summary: when their older brothers forget about them, the younger (and better) lestappen find each other
a/n: this came together from the video of arthur being left behind at his brothers wedding then posting an instagram with the caption “simply lovely”
a/n2: thanks @sinofwriting for helping flesh this out ☀️
Masterlist
yn_verstappen
liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, victoriaverstappen and 928,283 others
yn_verstappen: Barcelona I love you ❤️
view all comments
user1: we love you too!!
↳user2: best verstappen!
↳yn_verstappen: 😘💋mwah mwah liked by user1, user2
georgerussell63: your brother crashed into me?
↳yn_verstappen: so?
↳user3: sis really just said not my problem 😂
↳yn_verstappen: 💅
↳georgerussell63: really?
↳yn_verstappen: don’t hate us because you ain’t us
user4: ok but where did you get that jacket in the fourth pic? I need
↳yn_verstappen: I blew up Christian’s phone until he had one made for me
↳user5: She is an icon. She is the moment
↳yn_verstappen: 🫰🫰
landonorris: no congratulations for me?
↳yn_verstappen: ummm why?
↳landonorris: I got second?
↳yn_verstappen: awwww does little Lando Norris want a gold star???
↳landonorris: actually yes I would
↳yn_verstappen: too bad — I don’t support orange
↳landonorris: papaya*
↳landonorris: and the orange army?
↳yn_verstappen: I don’t support UGLY orange
Bluesky
user6: wow he was quick to leave…
↳user7: I’d want to get away from Barcelona as well — that race wasn’t it…
user8: fast on track, fast in the air
user9: ummm is it just me or is yn still at the track?
user10: imagine being max right now…
↳user11: what do you mean?
↳user12: what?
↳user10: yn is still at the track in Barcelona - she’s was just caught on camera for Sky sports
↳user10: and max’s plane has already left
↳user11: uh oh 😰
yn_verstappen: ummm what???
↳user13: sorry queen but you’ve been forgotten…
↳yn_verstappen: 😢😢
Private Messages, Max and yn
Call Logs, yn’s phone
Bluesky
user14: you really did forget her didn’t you??
↳maxverstappen1: helpful comments only
user15: honestly this is something I thought the Leclerc’s would do — not max…
↳maxverstappen1: don’t even
↳user16: well maybe if you hadn’t left your sister behind in a different country??
↳user17: ohhhh drag him
yn_verstappen: hey charles_leclerc are you looking for a new sibling? A brand ambassador? Apparently I’m up for grabs
↳user18: ohhhhh trading in max for his work husband??
↳maxverstappen1: zusje please
↳charles_leclerc: let’s talk ❤️
↳maxverstappen1: no
↳yn_verstappen: when i (eventually) make it back to Monaco!
↳maxverstappen1: the jet is still at the airport, please zusje
user19: make him work for it girl!
↳yn_verstappen: you know it
↳maxverstappen1: whatever you want
user20: this wasn’t on my bingo card for the season but lord is it hilarious
↳user21: right?
↳user22: pulling out the popcorn 🍿
↳maxverstappen1: none of you will ever be allowed in the paddock again
Bluesky
user23: oh to be a millionaire’s sister…
↳user24: right?? Like when do I get my car when my brother leaves me in another country…
user25: you just know that this was yn’s car choice
↳user26: like max would ever buy her a Ferrari
↳user27: especially after she asked to be Charles’ new brand ambassador for Lec
user28: I’m thanking yn for her service — something about this season needs to be interesting and it’s certainly not the racing
↳user29: you can say that again
yn: ohhhh thank you!
↳maxverstappen1: call me
↳yn: maybe
user30: ohhhh a name change!
↳maxverstappen1: not for long
↳yn: that’s what you think
charles_leclerc: a good choice
↳maxverstappen1: I’m going to use it to run you over. Go away
↳yn: ignore him Charles — it is a very good choice!
user31: oh to be yn with both max and Charles wrapped around her fingers liked by yn
↳user32: it’s even funnier because this is like the first time Charles has responded to her posts?
↳user32: Like he’s been singularly obsessed with max for years — he hasn’t interacted with either of the Verstappen sisters…
Private Messages, Charles and Arthur
f1gossip
liked by user, user, user, and 728,283 others
f1gossip: Fans spotted Arthur today in Monaco after his brother’s wedding! According to the source video, Arthur was seen walking around and looking for something before he followed this car around the corner to get in.
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user36: Arthur!
user37: god he looks good today
user38: that was not the car Charles drove today??
↳user39: what?
↳user38: Charles drove Arthur and Alexandra to the wedding today and it wasn’t in this car
user40: ok but makes it look like he’s lost??
↳user41: it really does!
↳user42: did Charles forget about him??
↳user43: oh my god he did…
user44: ok what is with the drivers forgetting their siblings this year??
↳user50: this is one of the funniest things to come from this season…
↳user51: very very true
user52: and if i say that looks like yn’s new car?
↳user53: I’d say you’re right!
user54: crossover of the century
yn
liked by maxverstappen1, scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, and 2,822,814 others
tagged: charles_leclerc, lec, scuderiaferrari
yn: new team, new colors and an ice cream approved by both me and Jonny!
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user33: oh red definitely suits you
↳yn: I know 💅
charles_leclerc: thanks for such a glowing review!
↳yn: I know how to appreciate a good thing!
↳maxverstappen1: how many times do I need to say I’m sorry?
user34: ok but sis works fast? Like how on earth did she get so many good Ferrari jackets and pictures with them?
↳yn: oh I’m just that good!
↳user34: you definitely need to tell us your ways
↳yn: a lady never reveals her secrets!
alex_albon: is it just Ferrari or do you do other promos?
↳maxverstappen1: race winners only. Go away
↳yn: if I can work with horsey and lily, any time!
↳lilymhe: 💋💋
danielricciardo: I’ve got some enchanté merch with your name on it
↳maxverstappen1: you’ve peacefully retired. Let’s keep it that way
↳yn: Danny Ric just name the time and place
jensonbutton: looking good yn!
↳maxverstappen1: she only works with people from Monaco or people with more world championships than me. Move on
↳yn: see you at Silverstone!
lewishamilton: so yn, interested in repping some 44?
↳maxverstappen1: 33 is the best repeating number
↳maxverstappen1: let’s look elsewhere old man
↳yn: don’t be rude max! Dm me Lewis!
user35: girl signals she’s not representing her brother anymore and suddenly she’s overflowing with offers… liked by yn
↳maxverstappen1: she’s still an ambassador for me. She’s just…expanding her portfolio
arthur_leclerc
liked by yn, charles_leclerc, user, and 293,723 others
tagged: apmmonaco
arthur_leclerc: simply lovelyyy
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user55: this is messy af
↳user56: no no no this is funny af
yn: it is lovely!
↳arthur_leclerc: right?
user57: ok countdown to the Charles meltdown?
↳user58: minutes
user59: imagine forgetting your sibling then watch them start supporting a different driver…
↳user60: I didn’t have that on my bingo card but it’s weird that it happened twice, right??
charles_leclerc: what is this??
↳yn: a lovely post!
↳user61: girl you are messy af liked by yn
user62: the continuous drama of chaotic f1 drivers…
Private Messages, Charles and Enzo
Private Messages, Victoria and Max
yn
liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, and 1,824,283 others
tagged: charles_leclerc, lewishamilton
yn: all my favorites together ♥️💋🏎️
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user63: hey! These are also all my favs
user64: imagine being max right now - left your sister behind and now she’s cheering for his childhood rival and the cause of his 2021 nightmares
↳maxverstappen1: blocked
charles_leclerc: I’m honored
↳yn: go get ‘em leclerc!
↳maxverstappen1: do not
redbullracing: this is fine 😭 everything is ok 😢
↳yn: sorry but I needed someone who will choose me first…
↳scuderiaferrari: we’ll treat you right
lewishamilton: ❤️❤️
↳yn: 🥰🥰
↳maxverstappen1: no
user65: still choosing chaos i see
↳yn: always
scuderiaferrari: you make red look goooood 🫰
↳yn: oh admin you’re gonna make me blush ☺️
↳scuderiaferrari: even more red!
maxverstappen1: zusje please
↳yn: maybe
↳maxverstappen1: thank you
Bluesky
user66: looking good!
user67: oh to be her…
user68: and if I say that’s not her jacket?
↳user69: I’d say explain??
↳user70: that’s a team exclusive leather jacket — only members of the team were offered a chance to buy it
↳user71: oh my god that’s fantastic
user72: am I crazy if I say…Arthur?
↳user73: only slightly. there’s a pretty good chance that she was the one to pick Arthur up after Charles forgot him…
user74: I love everything about this
Private Messages: Charles and Arthur, Max and yn
Private Messages, Charles and Arthur
Private Messages, Max and yn
Private Messages, Max and Victoria
Bluesky
user75: Lestappen (the younger) truthers rise!
user76: wait I love this?
user77: ok but these 2 together just make sense??
↳user78: no I see the vision — I sense the vibes
user79: oh I just know they’re gonna be so happy together
user80: the way we all knew it was Arthur and yn…
↳user81: oh absolutely
Bluesky
user82: max what is that disguise??
↳user83: is he trying to be subtle?
user84: is he…spying on his sister??
↳user85: oh my god that’s hilarious
↳user86: he’s such a weirdo /affectionate
user87: ok but I can’t wait for yn to see this…
↳yn: oh you definitely don’t have to wait long…
↳user87: ok queen if you need an alibi I’ve got you
↳yn: we’ll see
user88: ok who’s making it out alive? Max or Arthur?
↳user89: imma say Arthur cause I know yn has the feral energy to her
↳yn: you would be correct
↳user90: which one?
↳yn: yes
Private Messages, the Verstappens
arthur_leclerc
liked by yn, logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 284,283 others
tagged: yn
arthur_leclerc: maybe we should thank our brothers for forgetting about us?
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yn: no
↳arthur_leclerc: if you say so, chérie!
↳user91: oh you’re already down so bad
user92: this is the bad boss bitch and down bad boyfriend representation I want
↳yn: hell yeah!
↳arthur_leclerc: umm you’re welcome?
↳yn: more enthusiasm please
↳arthur_leclerc: YOURE WELCOME
↳user92: so down bad…
user93: love the sibling shade here!
↳yn: they know what they did
↳pierregasly: do they?
↳yn: …max knows what he did
maxverstappen1: congratulations
maxverstappen1: seriously yn?
maxverstappen1: ok
maxverstappen1: name your price zusje
↳yn: we’ll see
charles_leclerc: WHAT???
Private Messages, Enzo Charles and Arthur
Taglist
If you want to join my taglist, interact with my taglist post. I won’t be adding anyone else
Summary: Charles is trying to move on. His new girlfriend checks all the boxes, but there’s one problem. He can’t stop thinking about Y/N. And their dog, Leo, is making it worse. From suspicious barking to full-on sabotage, Leo clearly has a favorite. Now Charles has to figure out what’s louder: his own heart or a very dramatic golden dachshund.
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Childhood Best Friend!Reader
Contains: A matchmaking dog, unresolved feelings, suspicious barking, soft denial, and a love story Leo is tired of waiting for.
Author’s Note 🏎️:
This story is purely fictional and written just for fun. No hate or shade toward anyone, especially not Alex. I genuinely love and respect her. This is just a lighthearted, chaotic little fic with a matchmaking dog and lots of feelings. Enjoy the drama, the fluff, and Leo’s unhinged energy 💛🐾
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
If you asked Charles when he first fell in love with Y/N, he wouldn’t know what to say. There wasn’t a moment. No lightning bolt. No fireworks. Just one day, she laughed at one of his terrible jokes and it hit him like a truck.
Oh. I love her.
But he never said anything. Because they were best friends. They’d been through braces, bad breakups, go-kart drama, and years of race weekends. Saying something now? Too risky. Too much.
So instead, he suffered. Silently. Like an idiot.
That is, until everyone around him decided to make it their business.
“You’re in love with her.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Pierre didn’t even look up from his phone as he threw the accusation out during a group dinner in Monaco. Arthur nodded, backing him up. Carlos just sipped his drink, waiting for Charles to cave.
“I’m not in love with Y/N,” Charles repeated, stabbing his pasta like it had personally offended him.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Then why did you threaten to fight a grown man because he looked at her in Italy?”
“I did not-”
Carlos pulled out his phone. “I have screenshots.”
“Those don’t count!”
“Charles, come on,” Pierre said, finally looking at him. “You’ve been in love with her since we were kids.”
Charles clenched his jaw. “I’m over it.”
“Since when?”
“Since now.”
They all laughed.
“I’m serious,” Charles insisted. “I’m dating someone.”
Everyone stopped laughing.
“You’re what?” Arthur asked.
Charles cleared his throat. “I’m dating someone.”
Pierre narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Who?”
“…Alex.”
Pierre blinked. “As in Alexandra? The art girl?”
“Yeah. That Alex.”
“Holy sh-”
Arthur slammed the table. “You’re dating the art girl just to prove a point!”
“I’m not!”
“You so are!”
Charles stared at them. “Can’t a man just date someone without being accused of emotional crimes?”
“No,” Pierre said. “Not when he’s obviously in love with someone else.”
———
Truthfully? Alex was great. Alexandra, technically, but he liked calling her Alex. She was pretty, cool, interesting. She dragged him to museums and taught him how to sketch like some artsy romantic. She didn’t blink when he zoned out at dinner, probably lost in some Y/N memory. And when he kept talking about Y/N? She just smiled and nodded like she already knew.
But it didn’t feel serious. Not even a little.
It felt like both of them were playing pretend. Like they were together just to not be lonely.
So, naturally, they made a Very Normal Couple Decision.
They got a dog.
Enter: Leo 🐾
“You don’t have to,” Alex had said, scrolling through an adoption site on her tablet. “But I’ve always wanted a dog.”
“I’m in,” Charles said too quickly.
A week later, Leo arrived.
He was a golden ball of fluff with judgmental eyes and a powerful attitude for someone who weighed less than a helmet.
Leo liked tennis balls, selective cuddles, and destroying Charles’ socks.
He hated the vacuum, Alex’s perfume, and being told what to do.
But overall? He was okay.
Until he met Y/N.
———
“Look at him!” Y/N gasped the first time she came over.
She dropped to the floor faster than Charles could blink. “Who’s the most handsome boy ever? Is it you? I think it’s you.”
Leo, who had previously ignored Charles for two hours, threw himself into her lap like he’d found his long-lost love.
Charles stood off to the side, arms crossed.
“He never lets me pick him up,” he muttered.
Y/N rubbed her face into Leo’s fur. “Because he has standards.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t get jealous just because your dog likes me more.”
“I’m not jealous of my own dog.”
Leo licked her nose.
Pierre, who had somehow FaceTimed himself into the situation, laughed through the phone. “Charles. You got replaced by a dog. In your own house.”
“Hang up.”
From that moment on, Leo was obsessed.
He wanted Y/N. Only Y/N.
She’d walk into a room, and Leo would bolt to her side. She’d laugh, and Leo would spin in circles. She’d leave, and Leo would sit at the door and whine.
Charles, meanwhile, was slowly losing his mind.
“Bro,” Arthur said one day, watching Leo ignore Alex. “He hates your girlfriend.”
“He doesn’t hate her. He’s just… more attached to Y/N.”
Pierre sent a voice note. “Aka..Leo knows who his real mom is.”
“Shut up.”
Max even sent a photo he took of Leo asleep in Y/N’s lap with the caption “he looks happier than you’ve ever been.”
Charles replied with ten middle finger emojis.
———
Operation: Escape
One night, Charles came home and nearly had a heart attack.
“Leo?” he called.
Nothing.
He ran around the apartment. Backyard? Empty. Under the table? Gone. Not even in the laundry basket, which was his usual throne.
Then his phone buzzed.
Y/N: “Look who showed up at my door 🐾😭”
A photo of Leo curled up on her couch like a prince.
Charles stared at the screen. “He escaped.”
He showed up at her door at 1 AM. In the dark. Somehow navigated Monaco like he had GPS.
“I swear this dog memorized your address,” Charles said when he picked Leo up the next day.
Charles glared at Leo. “You’re grounded.”
Leo yawned.
———
The thing was, Charles knew it was coming.
Alexandra wasn’t stupid. She saw it too.
They were having dinner on her balcony, the lights soft, the food untouched, and Leo sleeping a full three feet away like even he wanted distance from the situation.
She was staring at him.
He was staring at the table.
“Can I ask you something?” she said finally.
“Sure.”
“Have you ever been in love with me?”
Charles blinked.
There it was.
He opened his mouth. Then closed it.
Alex smiled. Not sad. Not mad. Just… knowing. ‘Yeah. That’s what I thought.’”
He let out a breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She shrugged, poking at her pasta. “I knew before we started. I mean, come on. I’m an art girl, Charles. I read body language like newspapers. You look at your best friend like she hung the stars.”
He swallowed. “We’ve known each other forever.”
“And you’ve been in love with her for just as long.”
Charles ran a hand through his hair. “We never talk about it.”
“Maybe you should.”
A silence fell between them.
Then Alexandra raised her glass. “To not wasting each other’s time.”
He smiled faintly. “To peace.”
They clinked glasses.
And that was that.
No yelling. No fighting. No guilt.
Just quiet understanding.
As they cleared the plates, Alexandra glanced at Leo, still dead asleep on the floor. “You know,” she said, “he’s gonna be thrilled.”
Charles raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“The breakup,” she said. “Leo. He’ll probably throw a party.”
Charles snorted. “He did growl at you for hugging me once.”
Alex laughed. “That little traitor. He’s been shipping you and Y/N since day one.”
Charles rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. As weird as it sounded… she wasn’t wrong.
They hugged goodbye at the door. No drama. No tears. And just like that, it was over.
Alex left with her tote bag slung over her shoulder and her headphones already in, waving once before disappearing down the hallway.
And that was how Charles found himself officially single, standing in a quiet apartment with a half-asleep dog who barely reacted to the breakup.
Leo just blinked up at him from the floor like, Finally.
———
After Charles and Alex broke up, things went weirdly quiet.
No more dinner reservations. No more fake-couple photo dumps. No more Leo trying to wedge himself between Charles and Alex on the couch like a clingy toddler.
Just Charles. And Leo. And the occasional judgmental huff when Charles tried to feed him kibble instead of grilled chicken.
The breakup was mutual. Predictable. Emotionally flat. Charles couldn’t even remember who technically said it first. All he remembered was walking Leo later that night and thinking, “Well. That’s over.”
And then came the weirdest part…Y/N started borrowing Leo. Constantly.
“Oh, can I take Leo to the park?”
“Leo and I are going to get puppuccinos!”
“Do you mind if I bring Leo on a drive? He likes the windows down.”
And every time, Charles said yes. Because it’s Y/N. Because Leo would actually whine at the door if she was late.
But lately… something felt off.
Because every time Leo came back from one of these mysterious little Y/N adventures, he would stand in front of Charles, stare him dead in the eyes, and bark.
Not just a “hello” bark. No, this was aggressive. Personal. Like he was trying to say something. Like he was personally offended by Charles’ existence.
“You okay, buddy?” Charles asked one day, crouching down as Leo barked directly into his soul.
Leo responded by turning around and peeing on Charles’ shoe.
Cool.
———
One Race Weekend Later
Charles was sitting with Max, Lando, George, and Pierre in the hospitality lounge, trying to eat his salad in peace, when Y/N appeared like a sunshine-wrapped grenade.
“Hi!” she smiled, leash in hand. “Returning your son.”
Leo trotted beside her, tail wagging like he’d had the best day ever.
“Oh, thank you,” Charles said, standing up and reaching for the leash. “Did he behave?”
“Of course,” she said sweetly. “Didn’t you, Leo?”
Leo sat down like a good boy. Looked up at Charles. Then immediately stood up on his hind legs and barked. One. Two. Three times. Loud. Sharp. Full-body commitment.
Y/N blinked. “Well, I’ll leave you to it!” she chirped, patting Leo’s head. “Bye, boys!”
She turned on her heel and walked away.
Leo watched her go. Tail still wagging. Love in his eyes.
Then he lost it.
BARK. BARK. BARK. BARK.
Straight at Charles.
Again.
Lando nearly dropped his water bottle.
“Mate,” George said slowly, “I think your dog’s yelling at you.”
Pierre was already doubled over. “No, no. He’s scolding him. Like a parent. You hear that? That’s ‘I raised you better than this’ energy.”
“What could he even be trying to say?” Max asked, half-laughing.
Charles sighed, rubbing his temples. “He always does this when he comes back from Y/N’s. Every time.”
“Maybe he’s saying stop making him spend time with her,” George suggested, shrugging.
“Stop spending time with Y/N?” Lando repeated. “Leo? The same dog who ditched Alex mid-walk just to run into Y/N’s arms? That Leo?”
“The dog who literally adopted Y/N as his real parent?” Pierre added.
“Are we talking about the same Leo?” Max joined in. “The one who escaped Charles’ house at one in the morning, ran three blocks, and rang Y/N’s doorbell with his paw?”
“That wasn’t even a one-time thing,” arthur said. “He did it again two nights later with Charles’ wallet in his mouth. Like he was leaving him.”
Pierre was howling. “Leo said ‘divorce is real.’”
“Guys,” Charles muttered, covering his face with both hands, “he’s just a dog.”
“You mean the dog?” Max said. “The dog that growled at Alex for three straight days and wouldn’t let her sit on the couch?”
“I just think it’s suspicious,” Lando added. “He doesn’t bark like that for anyone else. Only after Y/N drops him off.”
“Okay,” Pierre said, clapping his hands dramatically. “Let’s list the possibilities. Option one: Leo is trying to tell you Y/N’s keeping secrets. Option two: Leo is mad you’re not confessing your feelings. Option three: Leo is a reincarnated therapist and wants you to get your shit together.”
“Option four,” Max said, sipping his water, “he’s just deeply disappointed in you.”
Leo barked again. Loud. One single, dramatic bark.
Everyone went silent.
George pointed slowly. “That sounded personal.”
Lando suddenly gasped. “Wait. You said he only does it after Y/N drops him off, right?”
Charles blinked. “Yeah?”
“Then maybe he’s mad about something they did during the day.”
George nodded seriously. “We need to find out what.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “You want to follow Y/N?”
“Yes,” Pierre said instantly, already pulling out a cap like this was Ocean’s Eleven. “We follow her. We watch. We learn. We discover what Charles did to offend the Dog Overlord.”
Charles groaned. “Guys-”
“You’re outvoted,” Lando said. “You’ve been barked at. That makes you biased.”
———
The Next Day: Operation Bush
The mission was a disaster from the start.
For starters, their idea of stealth was laughable. A group of grown men in bucket hats and sunglasses, wearing a chaotic mix of Ferrari and McLaren hoodies. And of course, Max in his Red Bull Against the World. All of them crouched behind a bush across the street from Y/N’s building like that somehow made them invisible.
“She’s coming out!” Lando whisper-yelled.
Y/N stepped out, leash in hand, Leo happily trotting beside her like a kid on summer break. She was wearing sunglasses, humming something under her breath.
“She looks normal,” George whispered.
“Too normal,” Pierre muttered, scribbling something down.
“She’s heading to the park,” Max said, already power-walking to keep up. “Everybody act casual.”
So, of course, they walked in a straight line behind her, all five of them holding identical takeaway cups and pretending to talk to each other like this was a team-building exercise.
She sat on a bench. Leo ran around. She took selfies. Leo chased a leaf. They sat together and watched ducks for 15 full minutes.
“She’s literally just existing,” George said flatly.
“Wait. Wait. She’s leaving,” Lando pointed. “Where now?”
Y/N walked for a bit, Leo trotting beside her, until she turned the corner into a cozy-looking street and entered a small café with fairy lights and plants spilling out of every windowsill.
They all scrambled into a bush across the street.
“She always comes here,” Charles said softly. “It’s her favorite. Says the view’s the best outside.”
They watched as she sat at her usual corner table on the terrace, the one that overlooked the marina. She unhooked Leo’s leash and plopped him into the seat beside her like he was royalty.
“That’s his seat?” George blinked.
“Oh, he’s definitely her son,” Lando whispered.
Suddenly, the owner walked out. Mid-twenties, charming smile, carrying a tiny dessert plate.
“Here you go!” the guy grinned, placing the dessert in front of Y/N. “Your usual. And of course it’s on the house, for my number one fan.”
“HA!” Pierre whispered. “Number one fan?! You heard that right?!”
Y/N laughed. “You’re the best, Marco.”
“Anything for you.” He winked.
“Oh my God, they’re flirting,” George gasped.
“They look like a couple,” Lando added. “This is how rom-coms start.”
Charles was frozen. Silent.
Leo, however? Leo snapped to attention. Sat up in his little chair like a mafia boss. Eyes locked on Marco.
Then it began.
BARK. BARK. BARKBARKBARK.
He tried to stand on two legs, pawing furiously at Marco. Tail stiff. Deeply offended.
“Leo! Not again,” Y/N groaned, holding his collar. “He’s a nice guy! I swear, he’s never like this with anyone else.”
Marco chuckled, adjusting the plate. “It’s fine. He’ll eventually end up loving me. Everyone does.”
The boys collectively gasped from the bush.
“OH MY GOD HE’S CALLING SHOTGUN,” George whisper-screamed.
“HE SAID eventually. As in, he’s sticking around,” Lando added.
“HE’S BASICALLY DECLARING HIS INTENTIONS IN FRONT OF THE DOG,” Pierre shouted in a whisper.
Leo was now practically crawling over Y/N’s lap, trying to wedge himself between her and Marco, paws pushing, tail going wild.
“You’re gonna knock the dessert over. Leo, STOP!”
Charles hadn’t said a word.
———
Twenty Minutes Later: Nearby Restaurant
The team had relocated to a corner restaurant around the block, all huddled in silence around a table, water glasses untouched, menus ignored.
Nobody spoke for a full minute.
Until-
“So that’s why he’s been barking,” George said softly.
“Charles,” Pierre began gently, “even Leo is telling you to make a move.”
“You’ve had years,” Max said. “And a dog figured it out in one café trip.”
“Even a dog can tell other guys to back away from Y/N,” Lando added, “but you? You’re just standing there letting leo fight your battles.”
“He literally tried to commit assault by paw,” Pierre said. “For you.”
Charles sighed. “They were just laughing.”
“They were giggling, Charles. Giggling. Do you know what it means when a girl giggles?!” George shouted.
“Marco said ‘eventually’ like he’s planning the wedding.”
“LEO is fighting for your woman harder than you are!”
“Hold on. Are we saying Leo’s the main character now?”
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
Charles wasn’t even pretending to be chill anymore.
He stood at the front door, arms crossed, pacing like he was about to meet the principal. Behind him, the living room was full of chaos.
Pierre was sprawled dramatically across the couch. George was holding Leo’s favorite toy like a support item. Max and Lando were eating snacks like they were watching a pay-per-view event.
“I thought you guys were going home,” Charles muttered, glancing back.
“We are,” Max said, mouth full. “After Leo returns.”
“Yeah,” George added. “Can’t miss the bark show.”
“This is messed up,” Charles muttered.
“This is science,” Pierre corrected. “We’re studying the phenomenon of Bark Communication.”
And then, the doorbell rang.
Everyone sat up straighter like trained dogs themselves.
Charles nearly tripped over his own feet getting to the door. He flung it open, smiling too fast.
“Hi!” he said, a little too eagerly.
“Hi, Y/N,” George, Pierre, Lando, Arthur, and Max called from the couch like a chorus of nosy aunties.
Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, hi…?”
Charles ignored the chaos behind him. “Had a good day? Where did you go? Who did you meet?”
Y/N squinted at him suspiciously. “Just the park. A cafe. You know…around.”
Charles leaned slightly forward. “Who did you meet?”
“Oh, just… someone,” she said vaguely, bending down to unclip Leo’s leash. “Here’s your baby back.”
Leo padded into the apartment like a prince returning from war.
“Thanks for letting him spend the day with me,” Y/N said, smiling as she straightened up. “Makes the start and end of my day so much brighter.”
Charles blinked.
George mouthed bro you’re done for.
Pierre audibly sighed like he was watching a romance movie.
“See you guys,” Y/N waved, completely unaware of the crowd watching her.
“Bye!” Charles said quickly.
“Bye Y/N!”
“See you again soon!”
“Say hi to Mar-!”
Charles slammed the door.
Leo trotted into the kitchen for a dramatic slurp of water like a man who had experienced too much.
The boys already buzzing.
“Oh oh,” Lando said, pointing as Leo walked into the living room. “It’s scolding time.”
Sure enough, Leo marched right up to Charles. Planted his feet. Looked him dead in the eye.
And barked.
Loud.
Three times.
“Here we go,” George grinned. “Translation: you absolute moron.”
“Are you mad at me, Leo?” Charles asked, eyebrows raised.
BARK.
“That’s a yes,” Pierre said, nodding solemnly.
“Is it because you don’t like guys being all over Y/N?” Charles continued.
Leo let out a growly bark and gave what definitely looked like a head nod.
Charles blinked. “Well… I also didn’t like that.”
“Then why don’t you bark at him too?” Max said dryly. “Start a turf war.”
“Bring Leo for backup,” Lando added. “Two dogs, one girl, one love story.”
“This is ridiculous,” Charles muttered.
“No, this is destiny,” Pierre corrected.
Charles looked at Leo, who was now wagging his tail like mad, practically vibrating.
“Okay,” Charles said softly. “I’m going to talk to Y/N. About everything.”
Leo’s tail kicked into overdrive. He circled Charles like a little tornado of golden fluff. Let out a high-pitched happy bark and practically jumped onto the couch in victory.
Everyone stared.
George whispered, “Did… did Leo just do a happy dance?”
“He did,” Max said. “That was definitely a happy dance.”
“Even the dog is celebrating and you haven’t even confessed yet,” Pierre pointed out. “Imagine how much tail wagging we’ll get when you kiss her.”
“I’m telling you,” Lando said with his mouth full of popcorn. “Leo’s not a dog. He’s a wingman. And he’s doing God’s work.”
“Better than Charles is,” George added.
Leo barked in agreement.
———
The next morning, Y/N was already at Charles’ place with Leo when he casually walked over, trying not to look like he’d rehearsed this four times in the mirror.
“Hey,” he said, voice too casual. “Can I tag along today?”
Y/N looked up from where she was adjusting Leo’s collar. “With me and Leo?”
“Yeah. Just… you know, hang out. Go wherever you two usually go.”
She smiled. “Sure. You’re the owner. You’re allowed to see your dog.”
Charles grinned. Leo wagged his tail like he knew.
Later That Day…
It was honestly… nice. Strolling through the park, walking along the promenade, stopping by the market where Y/N bought Leo a cookie and Charles a lemonade “because you’re always dehydrated, idiot.”
Charles was floating. Leo was smiling. Even the pigeons weren’t annoying today.
But then. Then came the café.
Y/N’s café.
The Café of Flirtageddon.
They sat at her usual table outside. Leo was curled up at her feet, the sun was shining, the breeze was light. Then Charles suddenly started scanning the area like a man on a mission.
“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, amused.
“Nothing,” he muttered, frowning at the door like it had personally offended him.
Enter: Marco. The friendly cafe owner. Carrying Y/N’s favorite dessert with a practiced hand and a charming smile.
“Here you go,” Marco said, setting the plate down. “Same as always. Best customer gets the best treatment, huh?”
Charles’ eyes narrowed.
Y/N smiled. “Thank you, Marco.”
Marco leaned on the table slightly. “You know, I added extra caramel today. Thought of you when I made it.”
“Oh, it looks amazing-”
“Actually,” Charles cut in, loudly, “Y/N can’t eat too much sugar. She’ll get a headache.”
Y/N blinked. “Charles, what—”
“Also, we’re gonna walk Leo after this. Sugar and walking, not the best combo, right?” he added, folding his arms.
Marco looked confused. “Uh. Right. Well… enjoy!”
He left with an awkward smile, and Y/N slowly turned her head.
“Charles,” she said, grinning. “What was that?”
“What?” he asked, pretending innocence. “Just looking out for your health.”
She laughed but said nothing else.
Charles did not notice the idiots sitting behind a hedge across the street, disguised once again in hoodies and sunglasses.
“Bro,” Pierre wheezed, recording the whole thing. “He interrupted every sentence. Like... every Single. One.
“Marco didn’t even get to blink without Charles breathing down his neck,” Lando added.
George cackled. “Oh my god. Side-by-side video. Leo vs Charles. Interrupting Bros.”
Max just snorted. “Looks like we know where Leo got it from.”
They filmed everything. Charles footage. Charles turning red. Marco fleeing.
Iconic.
———
Back at the Table
Y/N was giggling to herself.
“What?” Charles asked, confused but suspicious.
Y/N pointed at him. “Now I know where Leo gets it from.”
“Gets what?”
“That.” She laughed. “Interrupting my conversations when I’m talking to guys.”
Charles blinked. “I don’t do that.”
“You literally did it ten minutes ago.”
Charles tried to change the subject, flustered. “What do you mean Leo does it? Like… how often?”
Y/N picked at her dessert. “Well, at first I thought he just didn’t like strangers. But I noticed he’s only like that when I’m with guys. Even with your brother Arthur. He started guarding me like a jealous boyfriend.”
She laughed again, clearly joking.
But Charles didn’t.
He went quiet. Rubbed the back of his neck. Cheeks turning very, very red.
“Yeah. I guess he got it from me.”
Y/N blinked. “What?”
Charles looked down. “I mean… I always interrupt. I get mad. I get jealous. Because I-because I’ve been in love with you. For a long time.”
Y/N froze.
Charles rushed on, nervous. “I get it if you don’t feel the same. I just… Leo clearly sees it, and I thought maybe…”
Y/N cut him off.
“I feel it.”
Charles stopped. Looked up.
“What?”
Y/N smiled softly. “I feel it, Charles. I’ve felt it for a long time. I literally told you the other day.”
He blinked. “You… what? When?”
(Flashback)
Y/N handing Leo back at the door, grinning.
“Thank you for letting him spend the day with me. Makes the start and end of my day brighter.”
She had looked right at him when she said it.
Not Leo.
Him.
(END)
Charles’s eyes widened. “That was about me?”
Y/N nodded.
Charles laughed, completely overwhelmed, before pulling her into a tight hug. “I am Stupid, I am stupid”
“You are,” she mumbled into his shirt.
Leo barked, circling them happily before wedging himself right between them like the chaos king he is.
“Of course,” Charles muttered, laughing. “He wants in too.”
———
Later That Night…
Charles was curled up on the couch with Y/N, her head tucked under his chin, his arms around her. Leo was squished between them like the furry bridge that started it all.
Suddenly, Y/N’s phone pinged.
It was a message from Pierre.
Video attachment: 🐶🐶 “WHO DID IT BETTER?”
The video had two side-by-side panels.
On the left: Leo interrupting Marco.
On the right: Charles interrupting Marco.
Same energy. Same timing. Same dramatic expression. Even the tail wag (in Charles’ case, it’s obviously metaphorical).
Y/N burst out laughing, ruffling Charles’s hair.
“What?” he mumbled into her neck.
She showed him the video.
He groaned. “I hate all of them.”
“They’re your best men at the wedding,” she said immediately.
Charles blinked. “Wedding?”
She smirked. “Manifesting.”
Leo barked once, very confidently.
Charles kissed her temple and sighed. “Unbelievable.”
Summary- 6 months after his families teasing went wrong, Arthur finally gives you the dream proposal you deserve... with a bit of help from his family and a trip down memory lane!!
Note- Part 2 of the engagement series (I actually don't have a name for it as it wasn't going to be a series hehe) I loved writing this and got a bit carried away! Hope you's enjoy it tho!... wedding next???
words- 16.8k (opps)
Part 1- when we're ready
Six months had passed since that weekend in Monaco, and life had settled into a comfortable rhythm. The online hate had significantly died down after Arthur had posted a rare, lengthy statement on social media—not announcing an engagement, but firmly telling people to respect your relationship and privacy. It had been blunt, protective, and very him, and while some people still commented, most had backed off.
The Leclerc family had been on their best behavior since that night. Charles and Lorenzo checked in regularly, always making sure to show their love and support without any mention of timelines or expectations. Charlotte and Alex had become even closer to you, often inviting you out for girls' days where the topic of engagements and weddings was strictly off-limits unless you brought it up first. Pascale called weekly, just to chat, just to remind you that you were loved.
And Arthur? Arthur continued to be exactly who he'd always been—devoted, loving, and entirely yours.
You'd fallen into a peaceful contentment that you hadn't felt in a long time. The pressure had lifted, replaced by a quiet confidence in what you had. You went to Arthur's races, cheered him on, celebrated his podiums and consoled him after difficult weekends. You traveled together, cooked together, built a life together that felt solid and real.
The ring sat in its box somewhere—Arthur had admitted its location once, drunk on wine and affection, though he'd refused to show you—but neither of you spoke about it. There was no rush, no urgency. You both knew it would happen when it happened.
You were curled up in bed with Arthur on a lazy Saturday morning, his arm draped over your waist as you scrolled through your phone and he dozed beside you. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, warm and golden, and you had absolutely no desire to move from this perfect cocoon of comfort.
Your phone buzzed with a text, and you opened it to find a message in the group chat with Charlotte and Alex.
Girls day in Monaco? Shopping, lunch, maybe some wine? We miss you! 💕
You felt Arthur stir beside you, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as he peeked at your screen, unabashedly nosy as always.
"They want to hang out," he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep.
"Mmm," you hummed noncommittally, already formulating a polite excuse in your head. The bed was warm, Arthur was comfortable, and the idea of getting dressed and going out felt like far too much effort.
"You should go," Arthur said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
"I don't want to," you admitted, turning slightly to look at him. "I want to stay here with you."
His expression softened, and he reached up to brush your hair back from your face. "As much as I love that idea—and believe me, I really love that idea—you should go. You haven't had a proper girls day in weeks."
"We could have a lazy day," you suggested, trailing your fingers along his jaw. "Just us. Order in, watch movies, stay in bed..."
"Tempting," he said, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. "Very tempting. But they miss you, mon cœur. And I think it would be good for you to spend time with them."
You studied his face, seeing nothing but genuine encouragement there. "You're not just trying to get rid of me so you can play video games with your brothers, are you?"
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I mean, that's a bonus, but no. I just want you to have fun. You deserve it."
"I have fun with you," you protested, but even as you said it, you could feel your resolve weakening.
"I know," he said, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "But go anyway. Let them spoil you. Buy something ridiculously expensive that you don't need. Drink too much wine at lunch. Come home and tell me all the gossip."
"There's never any gossip," you said, but you were smiling now.
"Then make some up," he said, grinning. "Come on, ma belle. Go have fun with the girls. I'll be right here when you get back, and we can have our lazy evening then."
You sighed dramatically, but you were already mentally planning what to wear. "Fine. But you're making dinner."
"Deal," he said immediately, then added with a mischievous glint in his eye, "By which I mean I'll order from that Italian place you love."
"That's what I thought," you said, laughing as you leaned in to kiss him. "You're lucky you're cute."
"And you're lucky I'm willing to share you for a few hours," he countered, stealing another kiss before reluctantly releasing you. "Now go, before I change my mind and keep you here all day."
You texted back a confirmation to Charlotte and Alex, then dragged yourself out of the warmth of the bed. Arthur watched you from where he remained sprawled across the mattress, his expression fond and affectionate.
"Stop looking at me like that," you said, pulling clothes from the closet. "You're making it harder to leave."
"That's the idea," he said, but he was smiling. "But seriously, have fun. You deserve it."
As you got ready, Arthur eventually got up and made his way to the kitchen, returning with a cup of coffee made exactly how you liked it. He settled on the bathroom counter while you did your makeup, chatting idly about nothing in particular, his presence comfortable and easy.
"You know," you said, applying mascara, "you're being suspiciously supportive about this."
"Is it suspicious to want my girlfriend to be happy?" he asked innocently.
"It is when said girlfriend would rather stay in bed with you," you pointed out.
He hopped down from the counter and came to stand behind you, his hands settling on your hips as he met your eyes in the mirror. "I always want you to be happy, mon amour. Whether that's here with me or out with friends. Your happiness is what matters."
You turned in his arms, standing on your toes to kiss him properly. "How did I get so lucky?"
"I ask myself that every day," he murmured against your lips. "Now finish getting ready before I really do change my mind and refuse to let you leave."
You gave him one more kiss, then another, then several more until he was laughing and gently pushing you toward the door.
"Go," he said, still smiling. "Before I really do keep you here."
"I'm going, I'm going," you said, grabbing your bag and keys. "I love you."
"Je t'aime aussi," he called after you. "Text me when you get there!"
You blew him a final kiss from the doorway, catching the fond, exasperated expression on his face before you finally left.
The moment the door clicked shut, Arthur stood frozen for exactly three seconds. Then he was scrambling for his phone, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get back to the bedroom where he'd left it charging.
He pulled up Charles's contact and hit call, pacing anxiously as it rang.
"Finally," Charles answered on the second ring, sounding amused. "I was wondering when you'd call. Did she leave?"
"Yes, she just left," Arthur said, running his free hand through his hair. "Is it still happening? Is everything ready?"
"Calm down," Charles said, but Arthur could hear the smile in his voice. "Yes, everything is still happening. Charlotte and Alex have their instructions. They'll keep her out until at least six."
"Six," Arthur repeated, glancing at his watch. It was barely eleven. "That gives me seven hours."
"Which is plenty of time," Charles assured him. "Lorenzo and I are already on our way to you. We'll be there in twenty minutes."
"Twenty minutes," Arthur muttered, his mind already racing through everything that needed to be done. "Okay, okay. What about the flowers? And the candles? And did you get the—"
"Arthur," Charles interrupted, his voice firm but kind. "Breathe. We've got everything. The flowers are being delivered at three. I have the candles. Lorenzo has the decorations for later on. Maman has sorted the flowers and made sure everyone else is prepared. We've been planning this for weeks, remember? It's all handled."
"Right," Arthur said, taking a shaky breath. "Right, you're right. It's all handled."
"The only thing you need to do," Charles continued, "is not have a panic attack before we get there. Can you do that?"
"I make no promises," Arthur said, but he felt himself calming slightly. "Charles, what if she says no?"
There was a pause, and then Charles laughed—actually laughed. "Are you joking? Arthur, that woman is so in love with you it's almost disgusting. She's not going to say no."
"But what if—"
"She's not going to say no," Charles repeated firmly. "She's been waiting for this for eight years. She's going to say yes before you even finish asking."
Arthur felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. "You think so?"
"I know so," Charles said. "Now pull yourself together. Lorenzo and I will be there soon, and we have a lot of work to do."
"Okay," Arthur said, nodding even though Charles couldn't see him. "Okay, thank you. For everything."
"That's what brothers are for," Charles said warmly. "Now go take a shower or something. You look like a mess."
"How do you know what I look like?"
"Because I know you," Charles said, and Arthur could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "See you soon."
The call ended, and Arthur stood there for a moment, staring at his phone. Then he looked around the apartment, mentally cataloging everything that needed to be done, everything that needed to be perfect.
This was it. After fourteen months of waiting, of planning, of finding the right moment—this was finally it.
He just hoped he could pull it off without completely losing his mind first.
Meanwhile, you were already at the shopping district in Monaco, where Charlotte and Alex had insisted on meeting you at one of the more upscale boutiques.
"This is cute," Alex said, holding up a dress that was decidedly not your style.
"It's very... pink," you said diplomatically.
"Too pink," Charlotte agreed, putting it back. "But you know what? Forget shopping for a minute. We should get our nails done! When's the last time you had a proper manicure?"
You thought about it. "I don't know, maybe a month ago?"
"A month?" Alex looked scandalized. "That's way too long. There's a salon right around the corner. Let's go."
"I don't know," you said, glancing at your nails. They looked fine to you. "I wasn't really planning on—"
"Come on," Charlotte said, already linking her arm through yours. "Our treat. Consider it a belated apology for being idiots six months ago."
"You've apologized enough for that," you said, but you were already being steered toward the salon.
"Humor us," Alex said from your other side. "Besides, when's the last time the three of us did something like this? Just us girls, getting pampered?"
She had a point. Between racing schedules and life in general, it had been a while since you'd had a proper girls' day.
"Fine," you relented, smiling at their obvious excitement. "But nothing too crazy. Just a simple color."
"Of course," Charlotte said quickly. "Whatever you want."
The salon was gorgeous, all marble and soft lighting, and you were immediately ushered into plush chairs. As the technicians worked on your nails, Charlotte and Alex kept up a steady stream of conversation, asking about your work, about Arthur, about everything and nothing.
"Actually," Alex said casually, examining her own nails, "while we're here, we should do your hair too. Just a trim, maybe some layers?"
"My hair's fine," you said, glancing at your reflection.
"When's the last time you had it professionally done?" Charlotte asked.
You tried to remember. "Um... I don't know, a while?"
"See?" Alex said triumphantly. "You deserve to be pampered. Come on, it'll be fun!"
There was something almost insistent in their enthusiasm, but you chalked it up to them just wanting to spend time with you. You didn't suspect anything—why would you? This was just a normal girls' day, the kind you'd had dozens of times before.
"Okay," you agreed, laughing at their excited expressions. "You two are very pushy today."
"We just want you to feel special," Charlotte said, squeezing your hand.
"Mission accomplished," you assured her, settling back in your chair as they discussed with the stylist what might look good.
You settled on a classic white polish—simple, elegant, timeless. As the technician applied the final coat, you admired how clean and sophisticated it looked. Charlotte and Alex exchanged a quick glance over your head that you didn't catch, too focused on your freshly manicured nails.
"Beautiful choice," the technician said warmly. "Very elegant."
"It really suits you," Alex added, her voice oddly enthusiastic. "White is definitely your color."
After the salon, the three of you wandered back toward the boutiques, stopping to peek in windows and comment on displays. You were perfectly content with your purchases from earlier—a few simple pieces, nothing extravagant—when Charlotte suddenly grabbed your arm.
"Oh my god," she said, pointing to a dress in the window of an exclusive boutique you'd walked past a dozen times but never entered. "Look at that dress."
You followed her gaze and felt your breath catch. It was stunning—a flowing design in the softest shade of cream, with delicate details that caught the light. It was romantic and feminine without being overly fussy, elegant without being stuffy. It was, quite possibly, the most beautiful dress you'd ever seen.
"That's gorgeous," you breathed, moving closer to the window.
"You have to try it on," Alex said immediately, already steering you toward the door.
"I don't need a dress," you protested, even as your eyes kept returning to it. "I have nowhere to wear something like that."
"So?" Charlotte said, pushing open the boutique door. "You don't need a reason to try on a beautiful dress. Come on, it'll be fun."
The sales associate descended on you the moment you entered, all practiced smiles and expensive perfume. Charlotte pointed out the dress in the window, and within minutes, you found yourself in a luxurious fitting room with the dress hanging before you.
"We'll be right out here!" Alex called through the door. "Take your time!"
You slipped out of your clothes and carefully pulled the dress on. The fabric was butter-soft, draping over your body in a way that felt like it had been made specifically for you. You turned to look in the mirror and felt your heart skip.
The dress was perfect. Absolutely perfect. It highlighted your figure in all the right ways while remaining sophisticated and tasteful. The color complemented your skin tone beautifully, and the cut was modern yet timeless. You looked like the best version of yourself—elegant, confident, beautiful.
"Well?" Charlotte's voice came from outside. "Are you going to show us or what?"
You opened the door and stepped out, suddenly self-conscious under their gazes. But the looks on their faces said everything.
"Oh my god," Alex whispered, her hand flying to her mouth.
"You look absolutely stunning," Charlotte said, her eyes suspiciously bright. "Like, genuinely breathtaking."
"You think so?" you asked, turning to look at yourself in the three-way mirror. "It's not too much?"
"Are you insane?" Alex said, coming to stand beside you. "It's perfect. It's like it was made for you."
"You have to get it," Charlotte insisted, adjusting a small detail on the shoulder. "You absolutely have to."
"But when would I even wear it?" you asked, even as part of you desperately wanted to find a reason.
"Does it matter?" Alex countered. "Sometimes you buy a dress just because it makes you feel beautiful. And this one clearly does."
You looked at yourself again, turning slightly to see how the fabric moved. She was right—you did feel beautiful. More than that, you felt special, like this dress was meant to find you today.
"It is really beautiful," you admitted softly.
"Then get it," Charlotte said firmly. "Treat yourself. You deserve it."
You hesitated, checking the price tag and wincing slightly. It was expensive—not impossibly so, but definitely a splurge. The practical part of your brain was already calculating your budget, trying to justify the purchase.
"I don't know," you said reluctantly, even as your fingers smoothed over the fabric one more time. "It's a lot of money for something I might never wear."
"You'll wear it," Alex said with absolute certainty. "Trust me. You'll find the perfect occasion."
"And even if you don't," Charlotte added, "you'll have it. And sometimes just having something beautiful is enough."
You looked at yourself one more time, at the way the dress made you feel, at the happiness reflected in your own eyes. And suddenly, the decision felt easy.
"Okay," you said, a smile spreading across your face. "Okay, I'll get it."
Charlotte and Alex erupted in excited squeals, hugging you and complimenting you and generally making such a fuss that the sales associate looked both charmed and slightly overwhelmed.
As you changed back into your regular clothes, carefully handing the dress to the associate to be wrapped, you felt a little thrill of excitement. It was impractical and indulgent and completely unlike you to make such a spontaneous purchase.
But it felt right.
The dress was placed in an elegant garment bag, and as you left the boutique with it draped over your arm, Charlotte and Alex flanking you on either side, you couldn't stop smiling.
"I can't believe I just did that," you said, equal parts giddy and shocked at yourself.
"I can," Alex said, grinning. "You looked too perfect in it not to buy it."
"Arthur's going to lose his mind when he sees you in it," Charlotte added, then quickly amended, "I mean, whenever you decide to wear it. No pressure."
You laughed, too happy to notice the slight edge of conspiracy in their voices, too caught up in the joy of the moment to question why they'd been so insistent.
"coffee?" Alex suggested, checking her phone. "I'm craving a latte right now."
"coffee sounds perfect," you agreed, adjusting the garment bag on your arm. "Lead the way."
You all settled into a cozy corner of a quiet café, the kind of place with mismatched vintage furniture and the rich smell of coffee beans permeating the air. Your latte had just arrived, steam curling up from the cup, when Alex reached across the table for the sugar—and somehow, inexplicably, knocked her entire iced coffee directly into your lap.
"Oh my god!" she shrieked, jumping up as the cold liquid soaked through your jeans and top. "I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry!"
You gasped at the shock of cold, looking down at the brown stain spreading across your clothes. Your white shirt was completely ruined, and your jeans were drenched.
"It's okay," you said quickly, grabbing napkins and trying to blot at the mess. "Really, it's fine. These things happen."
"I'm such a disaster," Alex moaned, her face flushed with mortification. "I can't believe I just did that."
"Seriously, it's okay," you assured her, though you were acutely aware of how uncomfortable the wet fabric felt against your skin. "I'm not far from home. I'll just head back and change."
"Wait," Charlotte said suddenly, her eyes lighting up. "You have that dress."
You blinked at her. "What?"
"The dress you just bought," she said, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the back of your chair. "You could just put that on."
"Put on the dress?" you repeated, incredulous. "Here? Now?"
"Why not?" Alex said, seeming to recover from her embarrassment. "You can't walk around in coffee-soaked clothes, and you literally have a beautiful new dress right there."
"I can just go home," you protested. "It's like fifteen minutes away."
"But imagine Arthur's face," Charlotte said, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. "You walk in wearing this gorgeous new dress, with your fresh manicure and your hair all done. He's going to absolutely lose it."
You hesitated, glancing down at your ruined outfit, then at the garment bag. "I don't know..."
"Come on," Alex encouraged, already standing and grabbing the bag. "The bathroom here is really nice. You can change, and then we'll head out. Plus, you'll be so much more comfortable than sitting in wet clothes."
"It does feel pretty gross," you admitted, plucking at your damp shirt.
"Exactly," Charlotte said, gently steering you toward the bathroom. "Go. Change. Surprise your boyfriend with how stunning you look."
"You two are ridiculous," you said, but you were already taking the garment bag from Alex's hands.
"We're invested in your happiness," Alex countered, grinning. "Now go. We'll wait here."
You shook your head, laughing despite yourself, and made your way to the bathroom. The café's restroom was indeed nice—clean and spacious with good lighting. You peeled off your coffee-stained clothes, grateful to be free of the sticky dampness, and carefully removed the dress from its bag.
As you slipped it on for the second time that day, you couldn't help but smile at your reflection. Even in the slightly harsh lighting of a café bathroom, the dress was stunning. Combined with your freshly done hair and nails, you looked like you were heading somewhere special.
Maybe it was silly to get dressed up just to go home, but Charlotte had a point—Arthur's reaction would be worth it.
You gathered your ruined clothes, stuffing them into the now-empty garment bag, and stepped back out into the café. Charlotte and Alex looked up immediately, and their faces broke into identical grins.
"Perfect," Charlotte breathed. "Absolutely perfect."
"Arthur is going to die," Alex added, looking enormously pleased with herself despite having caused the wardrobe disaster in the first place.
"This is insane," you said, but you were smiling. "I'm wearing an evening dress to go home on a Saturday afternoon."
"You're wearing a gorgeous dress because you look incredible in it," Charlotte corrected, standing and gathering her things. "Now come on, let's get you home to your very lucky boyfriend."
Less than an hour later, your stood at the entrance of your apartment building, suddenly aware of how quiet everything was. The typical sounds of the city seemed muted, distant, as if the world had pressed pause.
"We'll leave you here," Charlotte said, giving you a quick, tight hug that felt oddly emotional.
"Text us later," Alex added, also hugging you, and you could have sworn her voice cracked slightly.
"Okay?" you said, confused by their sudden intensity. "Are you two alright?"
"We're perfect," Charlotte said quickly, already backing away. "Just—enjoy your evening."
Before you could question them further, they were gone, practically speed-walking back toward the car. You watched them go, bemused, then turned toward the building entrance.
The elevator ride up felt longer than usual. You clutched the bag with your ruined clothes, suddenly hyperaware of the swish of fabric around your legs, the way the dress made you feel like you were floating.
When you reached your floor, the hallway was silent. Empty. You walked to your door, fishing your keys from your bag, and noticed immediately that something was off.
The door was unlocked.
You pushed it open slowly, expecting to see Arthur lounging on the couch or hear the sounds of him gaming with his brothers as he'd mentioned. Instead, you were met with profound silence.
"Arthur?" you called out, stepping inside.
No response.
The living room was empty, but not quite as you'd left it. Your eyes immediately caught on the dining table, where an enormous bouquet of flowers sat—your favorite flowers, the similar ones his family had brought as an apology six months ago. Scattered around the vase were balloons, at least a dozen of them, and as you moved closer, your breath caught in your throat.
Each balloon had a photograph attached to the end of it. Not just any photographs—pictures from your first year together. There was the selfie from your first official date, both of you grinning like idiots outside the restaurant. A candid shot someone had taken of Arthur kissing your cheek at a party. A photo of you two on the beach, his arms wrapped around you from behind. Another of you laughing at something he'd said, his eyes fixed on your face with an expression of pure adoration.
Your hand flew to your mouth as you took in all of them, each memory washing over you like a wave.
And there, propped against the vase, was a note in Arthur's handwriting.
You picked it up with trembling fingers, recognizing the careful script he only used when he wanted to make sure every word was perfect.
Mon cœur,
Eight years ago, you walked into my life and changed everything. This is where our story began, but it's nowhere near where it ends.
Our first year together taught me what it meant to fall in love. Really, truly fall in love. Not the movie version or the fairy tale version, but the real thing—messy and beautiful and absolutely terrifying in the best way possible.
Today, I want to take you back through every year we've built together. Every moment that made us who we are.
Your next clue is waiting somewhere we spent so many nights during our second year together—where you'd quiz me on racing strategy and I'd quiz you on everything else. Where we learned that we could spend hours together and never run out of things to talk about.
Find it, and you'll find what comes next.
Je t'aime pour toujours, Arthur
You read the note three times, your heart pounding harder with each pass. Your hands were shaking, and you had to sit down on the arm of the couch to steady yourself.
This wasn't just a romantic gesture. This was planned. Elaborate. Intentional.
This was...
You couldn't let yourself finish the thought. Not yet. Not until you knew for sure.
But your mind was already racing, thinking back to your second year together. Where had you spent countless nights? Where had you studied together, talked for hours, built the foundation of your relationship?
The university library.
It had been your sanctuary during those early years—the quiet corner on the third floor where you'd claimed a table as your own. Arthur had hated studying, had always been restless and distracted, but he'd shown up anyway because it meant being near you. You'd help him with coursework, and he'd make you laugh when you got too stressed about your own.
The library. It had to be the library.
You stood, smoothing down your dress with trembling hands, and caught sight of yourself in the mirror by the door. You looked like you were dressed for something important. Something life-changing.
Your white nails caught the light as you pressed them against your racing heart, trying to calm yourself down.
"Okay," you whispered to your reflection. "Okay."
You grabbed your bag and your phone, cast one last look at the balloons floating above the table—at all those moments from your first year captured and displayed like the treasures they were—and headed back out the door.
Whatever Arthur had planned, wherever this was leading, you were ready.
At least, you hoped you were.
The library was nearly dark when you arrived, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows through the tall windows. You hesitated at the entrance, confused—it should have been open for at least another few hours.
Then you saw her.
Professor Marchand stood by the door, a knowing smile on her face and a single rose in her hand. She'd been one of your favorite instructors during your undergraduate years, teaching the literature course where you and Arthur had first started sitting together.
"Professor?" you said, shock evident in your voice. "What are you doing here?"
"Hello, dear," she said warmly, her eyes twinkling. "I've been waiting for you."
"I don't understand," you managed, your mind spinning. "How did you—"
"A very determined young man called me a few weeks ago," she said, pulling an envelope from her pocket, passing it to you along with the flower. "He asked if I remembered the couple who used to sit in the back corner of my class, always passing notes when they thought I wasn't looking."
You felt your cheeks flush. "You knew about that?"
"Of course I knew," she said, laughing softly. "I'm a teacher, not blind. But you were both good students, and it was clear you were something special." She pressed the envelope into your hands. "He asked me to give you this and to make sure you went inside. The security guard has left the third floor unlocked for you."
"Professor Marchand, I—" your voice cracked slightly. "Thank you."
She patted your hand gently. "Go on, dear. Don't keep your memories waiting."
Your hands trembled as you opened the envelope, but you forced yourself to wait until you were inside. The library was eerily quiet, your footsteps echoing as you climbed the familiar stairs to the third floor.
And there, in your corner—your table, the one where you'd spent countless hours—was another display that made your breath catch. More flowers, these ones a different variety but just as beautiful, surrounded by balloons. Each balloon bore photos from your second year together: Arthur in his racing suit with you beside him at his first major competition; the two of you at his family's house for Sunday dinner; a photo of you asleep on his shoulder on a train; one of him kissing your forehead while you studied, clearly unaware the photo was being taken.
You sank into your old chair, the one that used to be yours, and carefully unfolded the note.
Ma belle,
Our second year was when I realized this wasn't just love—it was home. Every late night in this library, every stolen kiss between study sessions, every moment I watched you concentrate so hard your nose would scrinkle up... I was falling deeper.
This was the year I learned that love isn't just about the grand gestures. It's about showing up. It's about being there even when it's boring or hard or inconvenient. It's about choosing each other, every single day.
You chose me every day that year, even when I was stressed about racing, even when I was impossible to deal with. You sat in this library with me and made studying feel less like torture and more like time I'd treasure forever.
Your third year with me was when everything changed. When we stopped being students figuring things out and started being partners building a life. It was the year I got my first real contract, the year we moved in together, the year we learned what it meant to be a team.
Your next clue is waiting at the place where we celebrated that contract—where I picked you up and spun you around because I was so happy I couldn't contain it, where you laughed so hard you couldn't breathe, where we danced in public like we were the only two people in the world.
Do you remember? The fountain where we made wishes and threw coins and promised each other that no matter what happened, we'd always come back to this feeling—this joy, this certainty, this us.
Go there. I'll be waiting in the memories.
Toujours à toi, Arthur
You pressed the note to your chest, tears already blurring your vision as you remembered that night. The fountain in the center of Place du Casino, where Arthur had gotten the call about his contract and immediately ran to find you. How he'd literally swept you off your feet, spinning you around while you shrieked with laughter and joy. How you'd danced together with no music, just the sound of the fountain and your own happiness, while tourists took photos and smiled at your obvious love.
You stood on shaking legs, carefully collecting the note and taking one last look at the table that held so many memories. Then you were running—as much as you could in the dress—back down the stairs, past Professor Marchand who was still waiting and who waved with tears in her own eyes, and out into the Monaco streets.
The fountain was a fifteen-minute walk, but you made it in ten, your heart pounding, your mind racing, your whole body trembling with anticipation and love and the growing certainty of what was happening.
The fountain plaza was empty—unnaturally so for a late Saturday afternoon in Monaco. The usual crowds of tourists were absent, the benches cleared, and standing alone by the fountain's edge was a figure that made you stop dead in your tracks.
Your best friend from university. The one who'd moved to Paris three years ago for work. The one you barely got to see anymore despite countless promises to visit.
"Surprise," she said, her smile watery as she held out a single rose.
"What—how are you—" You couldn't form a complete sentence, too overwhelmed by her presence, by everything happening.
"Arthur called me two weeks ago," she said, pulling you into a fierce hug. "Asked if I'd be willing to fly down for the most important evening of your life. As if I'd say no."
You hugged her back, unable to speak, and when you finally pulled away, you saw what was arranged around the fountain. Candles—dozens of them, protected in glass holders—lined the fountain's edge, their flames dancing in the early evening breeze. Rose petals scattered across the ground in a path leading around the water. And suspended on thin, nearly invisible wire around the entire fountain were photographs from your third year together.
Arthur signing his contract, you beside him with tears of pride in your eyes. The two of you carrying boxes into your first apartment together. A photo of you both exhausted and paint-splattered after spending an entire weekend decorating. Arthur teaching you how to cook his mother's pasta recipe, both of you laughing at the mess you'd made. You asleep on the couch with Arthur's racing helmet in your lap, having waited up for him to come home from a late event. Him kissing you in the kitchen, morning light streaming through the windows.
"He's been planning this for months," your friend said softly, pressing an envelope into your hands along with the rose. "I've never seen someone more determined to make something perfect."
Your fingers fumbled with the envelope, your vision blurred with tears you could no longer hold back. You unfolded the note, and Arthur's handwriting swam before your eyes.
Mon amour,
Year three was when we became us. Not just Arthur and you, but us—a unit, a team, a home. We learned how to share space and share dreams. We learned how to fight and how to forgive. We learned that love isn't just a feeling, it's a choice you make every morning when you wake up and every night when you go to sleep.
This was the year I knew, with absolute certainty, that I wanted forever with you. Not someday, not eventually, but definitely and completely. Forever.
Our fourth year tested us in ways we didn't expect. It was the year I started traveling more, racing more, being away from you more. It was the year we learned that distance doesn't diminish love—it proves it. Every airport goodbye, every late-night video call, every race where I'd look into the crowd and find your face—they all taught me that no matter where I am in the world, my heart is wherever you are.
Your next destination is where we learned this lesson. Where I stood on a podium in the rain, searching for you in the crowd, and found you crying happy tears despite being soaked to the bone. Where I realized that every victory is empty if I can't share it with you. Where you whispered "I'm so proud of you" and I knew that your pride meant more than any trophy ever could.
The track where it all began for us as a racing couple. Where you became not just my girlfriend, but my constant, my anchor, my reason for pushing harder.
Someone very special is waiting there to guide you to the next part of our story.
Pour toujours et à jamais, Arthur
You looked up at your friend, tears streaming freely now. "He really did all this?"
"All this and more," she said, squeezing your hand. "Now go. You have one more stop before—" She stopped herself, smiling mysteriously. "Before the next part."
You hugged her again, quickly and tightly. "Thank you for being here."
"I wouldn't miss this for anything," she whispered. "Now go get your happily ever after."
The Monaco street circuit looked different without the grandstands and barriers fully erected, somehow more intimate despite its famous corners. You made your way toward the yacht harbor, your heels clicking against the pavement, and stopped short when you saw them.
Rose petals. A trail of them, deep red against the gray asphalt, leading you along the harbor's edge.
You followed them slowly, reverently, and with each step you passed another bouquet. Enormous, elaborate arrangements that must have cost a fortune, each one accompanied by photographs standing in elegant frames.
The first showed Arthur crossing the finish line in the rain, his car hydroplaning slightly, and beside it, a photo of you in the crowd, drenched and screaming with joy. The second captured the moment on the podium when he'd found you, his eyes locked on yours even as champagne sprayed everywhere. Another showed you in the garage afterward, his race suit unzipped to his waist, his forehead pressed to yours as he smiled that private smile meant only for you.
More photos: Arthur falling asleep on your shoulder on a flight home from a race. You wearing his team jacket, three sizes too big. The two of you on a video call, your faces split-screened but your expressions mirror images of longing. A photo someone had taken of Arthur showing everyone a picture of you on his phone, his face lit with pride. You at the airport at three in the morning, running into his arms after he'd been gone for two weeks.
Every image was a testament to that year—to the distance you'd endured, the love you'd maintained, the relationship you'd fought to keep strong despite everything pulling you apart.
And at the end of the petal path, standing with his hands clasped in front of him and wearing a suit that made him look unfairly handsome, was Lorenzo.
"Lorenzo," you breathed, and suddenly you were in his arms, hugging him tightly as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks.
"Hello, little sister," he said warmly, his voice thick with emotion as he held you. When he pulled back, his own eyes were suspiciously bright. "You look absolutely beautiful."
"I can't believe—" Your voice broke. "All of you. Everyone. This is—"
"This is love," he said simply, reaching into his jacket pocket. "This is what it looks like when someone loves you the way my brother loves you." He handed you another rose, this one white like your nail polish, and an envelope that felt heavier than the others. "Year five."
You took it with shaking hands, barely able to focus enough to open it. Lorenzo steadied you with a hand on your elbow, patient and solid.
Mon cœur,
Year five was the year everything fell into place. The traveling didn't stop, but somehow it got easier—not because we were apart less, but because we'd learned how to carry each other even across oceans. This was the year I stopped saying "I miss you" and started saying "I'm coming home." Because wherever you are, that's home.
This was also the year we learned to celebrate the small things. Not just podiums and victories, but quiet Tuesday nights and lazy Sunday mornings. The year we realized that our best memories weren't always the big moments—sometimes they were just us, together, being boring and happy and completely in love.
Your next clue is waiting at the place where we had our first "fancy" dinner—the one where I tried so hard to impress you that I accidentally ordered in Italian instead of French and the waiter had to gently correct me. Where you laughed so hard you snorted wine, and I knew I wanted to make you laugh like that for the rest of my life. Where we stayed until closing, talking about dreams we'd never told anyone else.
The restaurant where I first told you I wanted to marry you someday, even though "someday" felt impossibly far away. It doesn't anymore.
Charlotte is waiting for you there, and she has something to show you about the year we stopped planning for someday and started building it.
Tout mon amour, Arthur
You pressed the note to your lips, then looked at Lorenzo through your tears.
A sob-laugh escaped you, and Lorenzo pulled you in for another quick hug. "Go," he said, turning you gently in the direction of the old town. "Don't keep Charlotte waiting. And—" he paused, his voice dropping to something tender and serious. "Thank you. For loving him the way you do. For being the person who makes him this happy."
You couldn't speak, could only nod and squeeze his hand before following the path of rose petals that continued along the harbor, leading you toward the restaurant district.
The restaurant was small and intimate, tucked away on a narrow street in Monaco-Ville—the kind of place tourists walked past without noticing but locals treasured. Fairy lights were strung across the entrance, and the door was propped open, warm golden light spilling onto the cobblestones.
Charlotte stood in the doorway, wearing an elegant dress and holding a single rose. When she saw you, her face crumpled slightly, and she pressed her hand to her mouth.
"Oh my god," she said, her voice breaking. "You're going to ruin my makeup before we even start."
You walked into her arms, both of you crying and laughing at the same time. "I can't believe you knew," you said against her shoulder. "All day. The shopping, the nails, the dress—"
"The coffee we spilled was absolutely on purpose," she admitted, pulling back to look at you. "Alex felt terrible about it, but it had to be done. You needed to be wearing that dress tonight."
"This whole day—"
"Was carefully orchestrated by a man who loves you more than anything in this world," Charlotte finished, taking your hand and leading you inside.
The restaurant had been transformed. Every table had been moved except for one—your table, the one in the corner where you'd sat that night five years ago. It was set with candles and flowers, and floating above it were more balloons, more photographs.
These ones made your heart ache with their intimacy. Arthur asleep in bed, his arm reaching across to your side even though you weren't there—you'd taken the photo when you got home from a work trip. You cooking in the kitchen while he watched from the doorway, his expression soft and unguarded. The two of you at a farmer's market, his hand in your back pocket, both of you laughing at something. Arthur on one knee tying your shoe, looking up at you with exaggerated chivalry. You wearing his racing suit as a joke, swimming in the oversized fabric. The two of you building furniture together, both looking frustrated and sweaty and hopelessly in love. A selfie from a random Wednesday night, no makeup, messy hair, pure happiness.
"Year five," Charlotte said softly, "was when you two stopped trying to be perfect for each other and just started being real. That's what Arthur said when he asked me to help plan this. He said it was the year he fell in love with your ordinary as much as your extraordinary."
You walked slowly around the table, taking in each photograph, each captured moment of simple, uncomplicated love. When you reached the chair, you found another note, this one tucked into a menu from that night five years ago—he'd kept it all this time.
Ma vie,
Our sixth year was different. Harder. It was the year we faced things we'd never had to face before—doubt, fear, mistakes. It was the year we learned that love isn't just about the good times. It's about fighting for each other even when you're fighting with each other. It's about forgiveness and growth and choosing to stay when leaving would be easier.
Year six tested us, and we passed. We came out stronger, more honest, more committed. We learned that we're not perfect, but we're perfect for each other. And that's what matters.
Your next destination is where we had our worst fight and our best reconciliation. Where I said things I regretted and you said things you needed to say. Where we both cried and yelled and finally, finally talked—really talked—about what we needed from each other. Where we fell asleep on the couch at four in the morning, holding each other, and woke up knowing we'd be okay.
The beach. Our beach. Where we've had a thousand conversations and made a thousand memories, but none more important than the one where we promised to always choose each other, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard.
Charles is waiting there with year six, and with the promise of what came after.
Je t'aime plus que tout, Arthur
Charlotte handed you the final rose from this stop—cream-colored, like your dress—and squeezed your hand.
The beach was ethereal in the twilight, transformed into something out of a dream. The wooden deck that led down to the sand had been wrapped entirely in fairy lights—thousands of them, creating a canopy of golden stars. And attached to the railing, spaced perfectly along the entire length, were photographs. Year six. The hard year.
You walked slowly, your dress trailing behind you, and examined each one. Arthur with his head in his hands after a difficult race while you rubbed his back. You crying on the bathroom floor over something you couldn't even remember now, with Arthur sitting beside you, just being there. The two of you on opposite ends of the couch, the space between you feeling like miles. A photo someone had taken of you both at a party, smiling for the camera but the tension visible in the tightness around your eyes. Arthur's back as he walked away during a fight. Your face, angry and hurt and frustrated.
But then the photos changed. The two of you talking on this very beach, your faces serious but open. Arthur holding your face in his hands, his forehead pressed to yours. You wrapped in his arms, both of you crying. The two of you asleep on the couch, tangled together, your fingers intertwined even in sleep. A sunrise photo taken from your balcony with two coffee cups in the foreground—the morning after, when you'd woken up and decided to start again. Arthur kissing your temple while you smiled, genuine and relieved. The two of you laughing again, finally, the tension gone from your shoulders.
At the end of the deck, where the wood met the sand, stood Charles.
He was wearing a suit, his hair styled perfectly, but his face was wet with tears he wasn't bothering to hide. When he saw you, a sound escaped him—half sob, half laugh—and he opened his arms.
You ran the last few steps, and he caught you, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.
"I can't—" he started, his voice breaking. "I can't even speak, you look so beautiful, and this is so—" He pulled back, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand, laughing at himself. "Arthur made me promise I wouldn't cry, and I haven't even given you the rose yet."
You were crying too, clutching his jacket, overwhelmed by everything—by the evening, by the love, by the sheer enormity of what was happening.
Charles took a shaky breath and pulled a rose from behind his back—this one a deep, passionate red—along with an envelope. But he didn't hand them to you immediately. Instead, he took your hands in his.
"I need to say something first," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I've known Arthur my whole life. We grew up together. We raced together. We've been through everything together. And in all those years, I have never—never—seen him as happy as he's been since the day he met you."
Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks, and Charles squeezed your hands tighter.
"You didn't just become his girlfriend. You became family. My family. And watching you two love each other, watching you fight for each other even in year six when things got hard—" His voice cracked again. "It taught me what real love looks like. Not the easy kind. The kind that stays. The kind that fights. The kind that chooses each other every single day."
"Charles," you whispered, barely able to speak.
"He asked me to be here tonight because year six was when I saw what you two are made of," Charles continued, his eyes locked on yours. "It was when I stopped thinking of you as Arthur's girlfriend and started thinking of you as the person he's going to spend his life with. Someone who is the sister I never had. Because you're strong enough for that. You're brave enough for that. You love him enough for that."
He finally released one of your hands to wipe at his face again, laughing through his tears. "And now I'm a mess, and Arthur's going to kill me for taking so long, but I needed you to know—" He pressed the rose and envelope into your hands. "I needed you to know how grateful I am. That my brother found you. That you found him. That you stayed."
You couldn't form words, could only pull him into another fierce hug while you both cried and the fairy lights twinkled above you and the waves crashed softly against the shore.
When you finally pulled apart, Charles helped you open the envelope with shaking hands, both of you laughing at how ridiculous you looked, crying and trembling on a beach in formal wear.
Mon trésor,
Year seven was the year we stopped talking about the future and started living it. This was the year we looked at houses even though we didn't need one. The year we talked about kids' names even though we weren't ready. The year we started planning a life that felt less like a dream and more like an inevitability.
This was the year I stopped being scared of forever. The year I realized that growing old with you wasn't something to fear—it was the only thing I wanted. Every conversation about mortgages and retirement and what we'd name our dog someday felt like a promise I was making to myself: this is real, this is happening, this is the rest of my life.
Year seven was when I bought the ring.
Your next stop is where I told you, late one night after too much wine, that I wanted to have a family with you. Where you cried and said you wanted that too. Where we stayed up until dawn talking about a future that felt suddenly, beautifully possible. Where I knew, without any doubt, that I was going to marry you.
The balcony of our apartment. Where we've had a thousand quiet moments, but that one changed everything. Where I stopped wondering "if" and started planning "when." Where our future stopped being abstract and became something I could see, touch, almost taste.
Alex is waiting there with year seven—with the year I started counting down to this moment.
À toi pour toujours, Arthur
You pressed the note to your chest, your heart hammering so hard you thought it might break through your ribs. Charles walked with you back to the car he'd arranged, his hand supportive at your elbow, and the drive to your apartment felt both endless and far too short.
Alex was on the balcony when you arrived, and you could see her from the street, silhouetted against more fairy lights, more candles, more flowers. The entire balcony had been transformed into a garden of light and memory.
You took the elevator up alone, Charles having squeezed your hand one more time before letting you go. Your legs felt weak, your whole body trembling with anticipation and love and the overwhelming knowledge of what was coming.
Alex turned when she heard the balcony door open, and immediately her face crumpled. "Oh god," she said, pressing her hands to her mouth. "Oh god, you're so beautiful, and this is so—I can't—"
You walked into her arms, and she held you while you both cried, her hands smoothing down your hair, your back, like she was trying to memorize this moment.
"Year seven," she finally whispered, pulling back to look at you. "The year he decided he couldn't wait anymore."
The balcony was covered in photographs, but these were different. These were images of dreams: Arthur looking at houses on his laptop, his face serious and thoughtful. You asleep with a home design magazine open on your chest. The two of you at a friend's baby shower, Arthur holding an infant with an expression of wonder and longing. A photo of Arthur at a jeweler's, examining rings, his face intense with concentration. You and Arthur walking past a park where children were playing, your hands linked, both of you watching the kids with soft smiles. Arthur showing pascale something on his phone—you recognized it now as a ring, the ring. You cooking dinner while Arthur watched from the doorway, his hand resting on his chest like he was trying to keep his heart from bursting.
Alex handed you the final rose from the balcony—this one pale pink, delicate and perfect—and an envelope that felt different from the others. Heavier. More substantial.
"Year eight," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "This year. Right now. The year everything led to this moment."
Your hands shook so badly you could barely open the envelope, and Alex had to help you, her fingers steadying yours as you unfolded the note inside.
Mon amour,
Year eight. Our year. The year I stopped planning and started doing. The year I woke up every single day knowing that I was going to make you mine forever, officially, in front of everyone we love.
This year, every moment has been leading to tonight. Every kiss goodbye, every welcome home, every ordinary Tuesday and extraordinary Saturday—they've all been building to this. To us. To forever.
This year I watched you become even more beautiful, more strong, more absolutely everything I could ever want. I watched you handle challenges with grace, celebrate victories with joy, and love me with a consistency that still takes my breath away.
Your final destination before we begin year nine together is with the woman who taught me what love looks like. Who showed me, my entire life, what it means to choose someone every single day. Who raised me to be the kind of man worthy of a woman like you.
My mother is waiting for you, with all the memories from this year—our year—and with her blessing for every year that comes after.
Plus que hier, moins que demain, Arthur
"Pascale," you whispered, and Alex nodded, fresh tears streaming down her face.
"She's been decorating all day," Alex said, squeezing your hands. "She's so excited. So emotional. Arthur asked her weeks ago if she would be the one to—" She stopped, smiling through her tears. "You'll see."
The drive to Pascale's house felt surreal, like you were floating through a dream. When you arrived, every light in the house was on, glowing warm and golden against the darkening sky. The front path was lined with luminarias—paper bags with candles inside—creating a gentle, flickering pathway to the door.
Before you could knock, the door swung open, and there was Pascale.
She looked radiant in an elegant dress, her hair perfectly styled, but her eyes were already wet with tears. When she saw you standing there in your cream dress with your flowers and your trembling hands, she let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and pulled you into her arms.
"Ma chérie," she whispered against your hair, holding you so tightly. "Ma belle fille."
You couldn't speak, could only hold her and cry while she smoothed your hair and whispered endearments in French, her voice breaking with emotion.
When she finally pulled back, she took your face in her hands, studying you with such love and pride that it made your heart ache. "Come," she said, taking your hand. "Come see what my son has prepared for you."
The inside of her house had been transformed into a gallery of your eighth year together. Every surface held flowers—arrangements in every color, filling the air with their sweet perfume. And everywhere, everywhere, were photographs.
You and Arthur at charles's wedding, dancing together, lost in your own world. The two of you hiking in the mountains, sweaty and laughing. Arthur cooking you breakfast in bed, the photo clearly taken by you from your position against the pillows. You at one of his races, your face a mask of concentration and nerves as you watched him drive. The two of you at a family dinner, his hand on your knee under the table, both of you smiling at something someone said. Arthur asleep with his head in your lap while you read. You wearing his hoodie, drowning in it, grinning at the camera. The two of you renovating part of the apartment together, covered in dust and paint. A candid shot of Arthur looking at you while you weren't paying attention, his expression so full of love it was almost painful to see. You kissing his cheek at the airport. Him lifting you off the ground in a hug. The two of you making pasta in Pascale's kitchen, flour everywhere, laughing hysterically.
Every single photo was from this year. This perfect, ordinary, extraordinary year.
Pascale walked with you through each room, her arm around your waist, occasionally stopping to point out a particular photo and tell you the story behind it—some you'd known about, others Arthur had captured without you realizing.
Finally, you reached the kitchen, where the largest arrangement of flowers sat on the table—a stunning mix of every flower that had appeared throughout the evening. And beside it, a single photograph in an ornate frame.
It was from earlier today. You and Arthur that morning, still in bed, the photo clearly taken by him at arm's length. You were asleep against his chest, peaceful and content, and he was looking down at you with an expression of such profound love and tenderness that seeing it now made you gasp.
"He took this this morning," Pascale said softly, her voice trembling. "Before you woke up. He sent it to me with a message that said 'This is what I get to wake up to for the rest of my life.'"
A sob escaped you, and Pascale gathered you close again, both of you crying now, holding each other up.
"I need to tell you something," Pascale said, pulling back just enough to look at you, her hands still gripping your arms. "When Arthur first brought you home to meet us, eight years ago, I knew. A mother knows. I saw the way he looked at you, the way you looked at him, and I knew that you were going to be the one."
"Pascale," you managed, your voice breaking.
"Let me finish," she said gently, smiling through her tears. "I have watched you love my son for eight years. I have watched you support him, challenge him, comfort him, make him laugh when he needed it most. I have watched you become not just his partner, but his home. And I have never—never—been more grateful for anything than I am for you."
She reached up and cupped your face again, her thumbs wiping away your tears even as her own continued to fall. "You have made him happier than I ever dreamed possible. You have loved him with a strength and steadiness that has shaped him into the man he is today. And I am so proud—so incredibly proud—to call you my daughter."
"I love him so much," you whispered, the words inadequate but all you could manage. "I love him so much, and I love you, and I love your family—"
"And we love you," Pascale said firmly. "We have loved you from the beginning, and we will love you forever. You are ours now. You have been ours for years."
She released you and turned to the table, picking up an envelope and a small box. When she turned back, her hands were shaking almost as badly as yours.
"Arthur asked me to give you this," she said, handing you the envelope first. "The final note. And then—" She opened the box, revealing a key on a delicate chain. "This."
You took the envelope with trembling fingers, barely able to focus enough to read through your tears.
Mon cœur, ma vie, mon tout,
Eight years down. Forever to go.
Year nine starts tonight. Our year. Not mine, not yours, but ours—completely, legally, eternally ours.
This key is to our next chapter. The house we looked at three months ago, the one where you stood in the kitchen and said "I could see us growing old here." The one with the garden you loved and the office space for you and the garage I pretended not to be excited about. The one that felt like home the moment we walked through the door.
I bought it. It's ours. Our home. The place where we'll build the life we've been dreaming about. Where we'll have lazy Sunday mornings and chaotic weekday evenings. Where we'll fight and make up and laugh and cry and live.
Where we'll start our family, when we're ready. Where we'll grow old together, exactly like you said.
Charles is outside, waiting to drive you there. To drive you home. To drive you to me.
Because I'm there, mon amour. I'm waiting for you, in our house, in our future, ready to ask you the question I've been waiting eight years to ask.
Ready to promise you forever.
Ready to start year nine.
Je t'aime pour toujours et à jamais, Your Arthur
The world tilted. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only stare at the note, at the key, at Pascale's tear-streaked face.
"He's there," Pascale whispered. "He's waiting for you. Go to him, ma chérie. Go start your forever."
You hugged her one more time, fierce and desperate and full of eight years of love, and then you were moving, stumbling toward the door, clutching the key and the note and the roses you'd collected throughout the evening.
Charles was leaning against his car outside, and when he saw you emerge, he straightened immediately, his face breaking into a smile even as fresh tears appeared in his eyes.
"Ready?" he asked, opening the car door for you.
You couldn't speak, could only nod as you slid into the passenger seat, your whole body shaking so violently that Charles reached over and took your hand once he got in the driver's seat.
"Breathe," he said gently, squeezing your fingers. "Just breathe."
But you couldn't. Every breath came shallow and quick, your heart hammering against your ribs, your mind spinning with eight years of memories and the enormous, beautiful, terrifying knowledge of what was about to happen.
Charles drove in silence, occasionally glancing over at you, his own hand trembling where it gripped the steering wheel. The sun had fully set now, and the Monaco streets were dark except for streetlights and the occasional lit window.
When he finally turned onto a familiar street—the one where you'd looked at houses months ago—your shaking intensified. And when the house came into view, you gasped.
Every window glowed with warm light. The front path was lined with more luminarias, more flowers, more rose petals.
Fairy lights were strung through the trees in the front yard, creating a canopy of stars, and soft music drifted from somewhere in the back—a song you recognized immediately as the one that had been playing the night you met.
Charles put the car in park but didn't move to get out. Instead, he turned to you, his face serious despite the tears still clinging to his lashes.
"Go on," he said softly, nodding toward the path. "He's waiting."
You looked at him, then at the house, then back at him, suddenly terrified to move. This was it. This was the moment. After eight years, after all the waiting and growing and learning and loving—this was it.
"Go," Charles repeated, his voice gentler now, encouraging. "Don't keep him waiting any longer."
Your legs felt like water as you stepped out of the car, the key still clutched in one hand, your collection of roses in the other. The night air was cool against your flushed skin, and you could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, drowning out everything else.
The luminarias guided you up the front path, past the flowers, past more photographs attached to stakes in the garden—moments you'd missed from throughout the evening, candid shots someone had taken of you at each location, your face a progression of emotion from surprise to joy to overwhelming love.
You reached the front door, but it was propped open, more rose petals scattered across the threshold leading inside. You followed them through the empty house—your house, your home—your footsteps echoing in the unfurnished rooms. The petals led you through the kitchen you'd fallen in love with, past the office space you'd imagined filling with books and dreams, toward the back of the house where French doors stood open to the garden.
And there, in the center of the garden, was a gazebo you didn't remember being there before.
It was covered entirely in fairy lights, thousands of them, transforming the simple structure into something magical. They dripped from the roof like cascading starlight, wrapped around every post and beam, creating a dome of golden illumination that made the whole garden glow.
And hanging from the gazebo's frame, suspended on delicate ribbons, were more photographs. Hundreds of them. Not organized by year anymore, but mixed together—a visual representation of eight years of life, of love, of you and Arthur becoming you-and-Arthur.
But you barely registered the photos.
Because there, standing in the center of the gazebo with his back to you, shoulders shaking, hands covering his face, was Arthur.
He was wearing a suit you'd never seen before, perfectly tailored, deep navy blue that made him look unfairly handsome even from behind. His hair was styled but already slightly mussed, like he'd been running his hands through it. And he was crying—you could tell from the way his shoulders moved, from the way he seemed to be trying to compose himself and failing.
You took a step forward, your heels clicking softly on the stone path, and he went completely still.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The world held its breath. Even the music seemed to soften, fading into the background until all you could hear was your own heartbeat and his ragged breathing.
Then, slowly, he turned around.
The sound that escaped you was somewhere between a sob and his name. His face was wrecked—tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes red and swollen, his expression so full of love and awe and overwhelming emotion that it physically hurt to look at him.
"Mon Dieu," he whispered, his voice completely broken. He pressed his hand to his mouth, shaking his head, fresh tears spilling over. "Mon Dieu, look at you."
You couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Could only stand there clutching your roses and your key while he stared at you like you were the answer to every prayer he'd ever whispered.
"I—" he started, then had to stop, turning partially away to wipe at his face with both hands. "I'm sorry, I'm—I practiced this speech for months, and now I can't—" His voice cracked completely, and he let out a watery laugh, turning back to you. "You're so beautiful, and this is so—I can't find words."
"Arthur," you managed, your own voice nothing but tears.
He shook his head, taking a shaky breath, visibly trying to compose himself. "No, let me—I need to—" Another breath, his hands trembling as he gestured helplessly. "Eight years ago, I walked into a library and saw you studying, and my entire life changed in that moment. I didn't know it yet—didn't know that the girl with the focused expression and the messy notes would become my everything—but some part of me must have known. Some part of me recognized you."
Fresh tears streamed down both your faces, but neither of you moved to wipe them away.
"I have spent eight years learning you," he continued, his voice steadier now but still thick with emotion. "Learning what makes you laugh, what makes you cry, what you look like when you're angry and when you're peaceful and when you're so happy you can't contain it. I've learned your coffee order and your favorite songs and the exact way you like to be held when you're sad. I've learned that you scrunch your nose when you concentrate and that you hum when you cook and that you talk in your sleep sometimes, usually about things that make absolutely no sense."
A sob-laugh escaped you, and his expression softened even more, if that was possible.
"I've learned that you're stronger than you think you are. That you're braver than you give yourself credit for. That you love with your whole heart, completely and without reservation, and that being loved by you is the greatest privilege of my entire life."
"Arthur," you whispered again, unable to form any other words.
"I've learned what home feels like," he said, his voice dropping to something raw and vulnerable. "Because it's not a place. It's not Monaco or France or any house or apartment. It's you. You're my home. You always have been. From that first moment in the library to right now, standing here—you're where I belong."
He took a step toward you, then another, until he was close enough to touch but still not touching, like he was savoring this moment, this space between before and after.
"These eight years have been the best of my life," he said, his eyes locked on yours. "The racing, the victories, the achievements—none of it matters compared to you. None of it means anything if I can't share it with you. You are my greatest adventure. My biggest win. My favorite story."
His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing away your tears even as his own continued to fall.
"I love the way you've grown. The way we've grown together. I love that we've seen each other at our worst and chose to stay. I love that we've fought and forgiven and come back stronger every time. I love that we're not perfect, but we're perfect together. I love that you challenge me and support me and make me want to be better every single day."
"I love you," you managed to choke out, and his expression crumbled again, a fresh wave of emotion washing over his face.
"I love you," he echoed, his voice breaking. "I love you so much that sometimes I can't breathe with it. I love you in ways I didn't know were possible. I love you in the big moments and the small ones. I love you on your good days and your bad days. I love you when you're easy to love and when you're difficult. I love you completely, wholly, eternally."
He released your face and took a step back, and your heart stopped completely because you knew—you knew what was coming.
Arthur lowered himself onto one knee.
The world tilted. Time stopped. Every sound faded away until there was nothing but him, kneeling before you in a gazebo of lights, holding a small velvet box in his trembling hands, his face wet with tears and radiant with love.
"I have been yours for eight years," he said, his voice somehow steady despite everything. "But I want to be yours forever. Officially. In every way possible. I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep beside you every night. I want to build a life with you in this house, in this city, in this beautiful, messy, perfect world. I want to have Sunday morning coffee on our balcony and Tuesday night dinners at our kitchen table. I want to travel the world with you and come home to you. I want to celebrate your victories and hold you through your defeats. I want to be your partner, your best friend, your home."
He opened the box, and even through your tears you could see it was perfect—a ring that caught the fairy lights and threw them back in brilliant sparks, elegant and timeless and so perfectly you that fresh sobs shook your shoulders.
"I want to give you babies that have your smile and my stubbornness," he continued, his own voice breaking again. "I want to watch you become a mother and grow old with you and sit on our porch when we're ninety, still holding hands, still choosing each other. I want every year, every day, every moment. I want forever."
Despite your eager nods, he continued.
"I want to be the person you call when something amazing happens. I want to be the one who holds you when you're scared. I want to be your safe place and your adventure and your constant. I want to love you through every season of life—through changes and challenges and all the beautiful chaos that comes with building a life together. I promise to choose you every single day," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I promise to fight for us when things get hard. I promise to never stop trying to make you laugh. I promise to love you when you're easy to love and especially when you're not. I promise to be your partner in everything—your equal, your teammate, your home. I promise to build a life with you that's exactly what we dreamed about on all those late nights when forever felt far away."
He pulled the ring from the box, holding it up between you, his hand shaking so badly the diamonds trembled in the light.
"So I'm asking you now, in our garden, in our home, at the start of our forever—" His voice broke completely, but he pushed through, his eyes never leaving yours. "Will you marry me? Will you be my wife? Will you let me love you for the rest of our lives?"
"Yes!" The word came out as a sob, and you were nodding so hard your vision blurred. "Yes, Arthur, A thousand times yes!"
His face crumpled in relief and joy, and his hands were shaking so badly he nearly dropped the ring as he reached for your left hand. You were both crying too hard to see properly, laughing through your tears as he tried three times to slide the ring onto your finger, finally succeeding on the fourth attempt.
The moment it was on, you pulled him up and threw yourself into his arms, and he caught you, lifting you off the ground, spinning you around in the gazebo while you both sobbed and laughed and held each other like you'd never let go.
"You said yes," he kept repeating against your hair, your neck, your cheeks. "You said yes, you're going to marry me, you said yes—"
"Of course I said yes," you managed through your tears, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. "Of course, Arthur. It's always been yes. From the beginning, it's been yes."
He kissed you then, deep and desperate and full of eight years of love and the promise of forever. You tasted salt from both your tears, felt his hands trembling where they gripped your waist, felt your own heart hammering against your ribs where it pressed against his chest.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you were smiling so hard your faces hurt, crying so hard you could barely see, holding each other so tightly there was no space left between you.
"I can't believe you did all this," you whispered, looking around at the gazebo, the lights, the photographs swaying gently in the breeze.
"I'd do anything for you," he said simply, resting his forehead against yours. "I'd move mountains for you. I'd hang a million lights and collect a thousand photographs and spend eight years planning the perfect proposal if it meant getting to see your face when you said yes."
"I love you," you said, the words feeling inadequate but all you had. "I love you so much."
"I love you more," he countered, pulling back just enough to look at the ring on your finger, his expression filled with awe. "Mon Dieu, look at that. You're wearing my ring. You're going to be my wife."
"I'm going to be your wife," you repeated, testing the words, and they felt perfect. Right. Like they'd been waiting your entire life to be spoken.
Arthur couldn't stop touching you on the drive back to the apartment—his hand finding yours at every red light, lifting it to his lips to kiss the ring, his eyes darting from the road to your face like he needed to confirm you were real, that this had actually happened.
"My fiancée," he kept saying, testing the word, savoring it. "You're my fiancée."
"Say it again," you'd whisper back each time, and he would, his voice full of wonder.
"My fiancée. Mine. Going to be my wife."
At one particularly long red light, he brought your hand to his mouth and just held it there, the ring pressing against his lips, his eyes closed like he was memorizing the feeling. When the light turned green and someone honked behind you, he jumped, and you both dissolved into slightly hysterical laughter, drunk on happiness and the enormity of what had just happened.
"I can't drive," he admitted, his hand shaking on the steering wheel. "I can't focus. All I can think about is that you said yes and you're wearing my ring and—" He brought your hand up again, kissing each knuckle. "How am I supposed to function like a normal human being when you just agreed to marry me?"
"You're the one who planned this," you pointed out, laughing through fresh tears. "You had to have known I'd say yes."
"Knowing and experiencing are two very different things," he said seriously, glancing at you. "I knew the sun would rise this morning, but it still took my breath away."
When you finally pulled up to the apartment building, Arthur parked but made no move to get out. Instead, he turned to face you fully, taking both your hands in his.
"Before we go up there," he said quietly, "I just need one more moment with just us. Just you and me and this—" He touched the ring reverently. "Before we share it with everyone else."
You nodded, understanding completely, and he leaned across the center console to kiss you slowly, thoroughly, like he had all the time in the world. When he pulled back, his eyes were wet again.
"Okay," he said, more to himself than to you. "Okay. Let's go tell everyone that you're going to be a Leclerc."
The moment you stepped off the elevator, you could hear the noise—laughter and music and voices all coming from your apartment. Arthur squeezed your hand, grinning at your confused expression.
"Did you think the night would end with just a proposal?" he asked, reaching past you to open the door.
The apartment exploded with noise the second you walked in. Every surface was covered in flowers and balloons and signs that read "Congratulations!" and "She said yes!" and "Finally!" The living room was packed his entire family, all of them screaming and crying and rushing toward you.
Charlotte reached you first, practically tackling you with a hug while sobbing "Let me see it, let me see the ring!" Alex was right behind her, equally tearful, grabbing your hand the moment Charlotte released it.
"Oh my god," Alex breathed, examining the ring while fresh tears streamed down her face. "Oh my god, it's perfect. You're engaged. You're actually engaged!"
Arthur had been immediately swept up by Lorenzo and Charles, both of them pulling him into fierce hugs, but you could hear him laughing, saying something you couldn't make out over the noise.
Pascale made her way through the crowd, her face glowing with joy, and pulled you into her arms. "Ma fille," she whispered, holding you tight. "My daughter. Finally, officially, my daughter."
"I've always been yours," you whispered back, and she pulled away to cup your face, nodding through her tears.
"I know. But now the world knows it too."
The party swirled around you in a blur of hugs and congratulations and champagne. Someone had ordered enough food to feed an army, and music played from speakers someone had set up, and everywhere you looked, people were crying happy tears and laughing and celebrating.
But through it all, Arthur never left your side.
He stood next to you, his hand at the small of your back or holding yours, his presence constant and protective. When people came up to congratulate you, he'd pull you closer. When someone wanted to see the ring, his arm would tighten around your waist. When you got swept up in conversation, he'd press a kiss to your temple, your cheek, your shoulder—anywhere he could reach—like he couldn't go more than thirty seconds without touching you.
"Arthur, give her some space to breathe," Lorenzo called out at one point, grinning.
"Non," Arthur said simply, pulling you even closer, and everyone laughed.
"Boyfriend Arthur was already clingy," Charles announced to the room, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But fiancé Arthur? This is a whole new level."
"Just wait until he's husband Arthur," Alex added, smirking. "You'll probably have to surgically remove him from her side."
"Bold of you to assume that's a bad thing," Arthur shot back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head while you laughed against his chest.
"At least he's consistent," lorenzo said, raising his champagne glass. "Remember year one when he'd text us asking if it was too soon to tell her he loved her?"
"And year three when he called me at two in the morning panicking because they'd had their first real fight?" Charles added.
"And year five when he made us all look at engagement rings even though he swore he wasn't ready to propose yet?" Lorenzo finished, grinning at Arthur's reddening face.
"I hate all of you," Arthur muttered, but he was smiling, his hand finding yours and squeezing.
"You love us," Charles countered. "Almost as much as you love your fiancée."
The word sent a ripple of squeals through the room, and Arthur's smile grew impossibly wider. "My fiancée," he repeated, looking down at you with such adoration that you felt your eyes prickle with fresh tears. "I really love saying that."
"We can tell," Alex said dryly. "You've said it approximately four hundred times in the last hour."
"And I'll say it four hundred more," Arthur replied, unrepentant. He turned to address the room, raising his voice slightly. "Everyone! Have you met my fiancée? This is my fiancée. Did I mention she's my fiancée?"
The room dissolved into laughter and groans, and you buried your burning face in his chest while he held you close, his body shaking with laughter.
"You're ridiculous," you mumbled against his shirt.
"You agreed to marry me anyway," he pointed out, tilting your face up to kiss you softly. "Too late to back out now."
"Never," you whispered, and his expression melted into something so tender it made your chest ache.
The party continued around you—food being passed, champagne flowing, stories being told about your eight years together. Someone had put together a slideshow of photos that played on your TV, and every few minutes someone would point at the screen and shout about a particular memory.
But through it all, Arthur kept you anchored to his side. His hand never left you—fingers intertwined with yours, arm around your shoulders, palm pressed to your hip. When you sat down to eat, he pulled his chair so close it was practically touching yours. When you got up to refill your drink, he followed. When someone tried to steal you away for a private conversation, he'd trail along behind like a shadow.
"Possessive much?" you teased quietly during a brief moment alone in the kitchen.
He pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. "You just agreed to marry me," he murmured into your ear. "Forgive me if I can't stand to be more than two feet away from you right now."
You turned in his arms to face him, looping your hands behind his neck. "I'm not going anywhere," you promised softly.
"I know," he said, but his arms tightened anyway. "I just—I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and this will all have been a dream. The proposal, the ring, you saying yes—" His voice caught. "I need to keep touching you to remind myself it's real."
"It's real," you assured him, rising on your tiptoes to kiss him. "I'm real. This is real. We're engaged, Arthur. We're getting married."
"We're getting married," he repeated, his eyes searching yours like he was still trying to make himself believe it. Then his face split into the most brilliant smile you'd ever seen. "Merde, we're getting married!"
He picked you up and spun you around the kitchen, both of you laughing, and that's how Charles found you—wrapped around each other, grinning like fools, completely lost in your own world.
"See?" Charles said to someone behind him—probably Lorenzo. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. Fiancé Arthur is somehow even worse than boyfriend Arthur. Can you imagine husband Arthur? He's going to be insufferable."
"I heard that!" Arthur called, setting you down but keeping you pressed against his side.
"You were meant to!" Charles shot back, grinning. "We're all going to have to stage an intervention before the wedding, teach you how to function as a separate human being."
"Why would I want to function as a separate human being?" Arthur asked, genuinely confused, pulling you closer. "That sounds terrible."
The room erupted in laughter again, and you hid your face in his shoulder, torn between embarrassment and overwhelming love for this man who had just promised you forever and couldn't seem to stop touching you like he was afraid you'd disappear.
"Je t'aime," he whispered into your hair, quiet enough that only you could hear beneath the noise of the party. "My fiancée. My love. My everything."
"Je t'aime," you whispered back, and felt him smile against your temple.
The party lasted until nearly three in the morning, but you barely noticed the time passing. You were too caught up in the joy, the celebration, the constant stream of love and well-wishes from everyone who mattered most. And through every moment, Arthur remained at your side—your fiancé, your home, your future—counting down the days until he could call you his wife.
The apartment felt cavernous after everyone finally left. Empty champagne bottles lined the counter, half-eaten food sat abandoned on plates, balloons bobbed lazily against the ceiling. But neither of you moved to clean up. You couldn't summon the energy to care about the mess when Arthur was looking at you like that—like you'd hung every star in the sky.
He pulled you down onto the couch with him, arranging you so you were half-draped across his lap, your legs tangled with his, your head tucked under his chin. His arms came around you immediately, one hand sliding up under your shirt to rest against the bare skin of your back, the other playing with your fingers, turning the ring so it caught the dim light.
"Hi," he murmured against your hair.
"Hi," you whispered back, smiling against his chest.
"You're still here."
"Where else would I be?"
"I don't know." His thumb traced lazy circles on your spine. "I keep thinking I'm going to blink and you'll be gone. That this whole night was something I dreamed up."
You lifted your head to look at him, and found his eyes already on you, heavy-lidded with exhaustion but burning with something deeper. Love. Wonder. Disbelief.
"Still here," you promised, touching his face. "Still wearing your ring. Still saying yes."
His eyes fluttered closed and he turned his face into your palm, pressing a kiss there. "I'm going to marry you," he said, voice rough. "I'm actually going to marry you."
"You are."
"You're going to be my wife."
"I am."
"Mon Dieu." He pulled you impossibly closer, burying his face in your neck. "I can't believe you said yes. I can't believe I get to keep you forever."
"You've had me forever," you murmured, your fingers sliding into his hair. "This just makes it official."
"Official," he repeated, the word muffled against your skin. "Legal. Binding. You can't take it back."
You laughed softly. "Don't want to take it back."
"Good. Because I'd probably just propose again. And again. Until you said yes permanently."
His hand on your back was warm, anchoring, his thumb still moving in those slow circles that made you feel boneless and safe. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and strong, matching the rhythm of your own.
"I adore you," he mumbled after a long moment of comfortable silence. The words came out slightly slurred, exhaustion finally catching up to him. "Do you know that? I don't just love you. I adore you. I worship you. You're everything."
"Arthur—"
"No, listen." He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes serious despite how tired he clearly was. "I need you to understand. You're not just the person I'm going to marry. You're the person who made me believe in soulmates. In forever. In coming home to someone and feeling complete."
Your throat tightened, fresh tears threatening. "You make me feel the same way."
"I can't wait to marry you," he continued, his voice dropping to something raw and vulnerable. "I can't wait to stand up in front of everyone we love and promise you everything. I can't wait to see you in a wedding dress. I can't wait to call you my wife. I can't wait to build our life in that house. I can't wait for Sunday mornings and Tuesday nights and every moment in between."
"We have all the time in the world," you whispered, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
"I know. But I don't want to wait." He caught your hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your ring finger, his lips lingering on the metal. "I've waited eight years for this. I want to be married to you tomorrow. Today. Right now."
You smiled despite the tears slipping down your cheeks. "We have to plan a wedding first."
"Details," he muttered, but he was smiling too, soft and drowsy and so full of love you felt it like a physical thing. "Fine. We'll plan a wedding. But can we plan it fast? Because I'm not sure how long I can go around calling you my fiancée before I need to upgrade to wife."
"However long it takes," you promised. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He sighed, content, and pulled you back down against his chest, his arms wrapping around you like he could hold you there forever through sheer force of will. His hand found its way back under your shirt, palm flat against your spine, thumb resuming its gentle circles.
"Love you," he mumbled, his words starting to slur together as sleep pulled at him. "Love you so much. My fiancée. My beautiful, perfect fiancée. Going to be such a good husband to you. Going to love you so well. Every day. Promise."
"I know you will," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest.
"Meant everything I said tonight. Every word. Every promise." His breathing was slowing, deepening, but he kept talking, the words coming quieter now. "Going to build you the best life. Going to make you so happy. Going to give you everything you've ever dreamed of."
"You already have."
"No. More. Better. Everything." His hand stilled on your back, his whole body going heavy beneath you. "Thank you for saying yes. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for—for being you. For loving me. For—"
His words trailed off into silence, his breathing evening out into sleep. But his arms stayed locked around you, his hand still pressed against your skin, his body curved protectively around yours even in unconsciousness.
You lifted your head slightly to look at him—at this man who had spent eight years loving you, who had orchestrated the most elaborate, beautiful proposal imaginable, who couldn't stop touching you or calling you his fiancée or promising you the world.
Your fiancé. Your future husband. Your home.
"I love you too," you whispered, even though he couldn't hear you. "More than you'll ever know."
You settled back against his chest, your hand finding his free one, your fingers interlacing. The ring pressed between your palms felt solid and right and permanent.
Outside, Monaco slept. Inside, surrounded by the remnants of your engagement party, you held each other in the quiet darkness—two people who had found each other eight years ago and would keep finding each other every day for the rest of your lives.
And as you drifted off to sleep, safe in Arthur's arms, you smiled.
Synopsis: Lando loved you, but most of the time, love is never enough with a man like him. He had never been the type to settle down, and you had come to realise that sooner than he expected. And when you left, he let you slip away without a peep.
So why is he only fighting for your love when it's too late?
Starring: Lando Norris
Form: SMAU
☀️Sunny says: that she should be studying again but goddamn these brain worms! There's a surprise at the end.
————————————————————————
☆ February '26
Love Is The Way • YN YLN
Liked by carmenmmundt, pietra.pilao, lando and others
yn_thegonegirl regardless, love is all around us because "Love Is The Way" OUT NOW! This is a special little piece I made for my favourite nearlyweds lilymhe and alex_albon💙 A very special thanks is due to the couples who let me in just enough to witness true love in its many forms. Happy Valentines🫶🏾
user789 OMG, the hopeless romantics win again😭😭😭
user123 not giving up on love even after getting the #landonorizz experience🙂↕️🤏🏼
user152 no idea how she does it, he was just playing in her face at all times🧍🏾♂️
user179 she shoulda put a hit out on him😐
flavy.barla I wish I was in love with love as much as you are😭
yn_thegonegirl I'm in love with YOU more😏
estebanocon excusez-moi?
flavy.barla mon amour, get out of the way pls
iamrebbecad another one for the rainy day playlist🧎🏻♀️🫶🏼
yn_thegonegirl I'll make another song for your playlist if carlossainz55 could just propose to you one of these days😒
carlossainz55 I told you I'm working on it☹️🌶
user345 and here I was thinking we were gonna get a heartbreak album😭😭
user378 one thing about YN is that even if she's not in love with someone, she's in love with the concept of love🙂↕️
user397 YN my idealist, my optimist, my romantic, my mistreated darling😔
user678 HAPPY FREAKIN VALENTINES I AM SOBBING SO MUCH WHY DID LANDO DROP THE BALL SO BAD🏃🏿➡️🏃🏿➡️🏃🏿➡️
user680 fr, it's not that hard to keep a good woman!
user688 ur telling me u can't commit to THIS woman?? this incredible woman who only ever radiates light and who very obviously cares so deeply for everyone around her???
user694 ugh I hope she finds someone better eventually, she deserves it😭😭
alexandramalenaleclerc another song that charles and I will dance to in the kitchen❤️
charles_leclerc ❤️
arthur_leclerc you two should get married again so she can make another song, red+white went triple platinum in my headphones😔
yn_thegonegirl why don't you get married, arthur?
arthur_leclerc I'm still thinking of ways to ask you out first, mademoiselle
alexandramalenaleclerc 🫢
lorenzotl leclerc_pascale
user490 arthur...I like where this is going...
user455 #red+white is still my fav song of hers ughhh😭😭
user234 I wonder where she met all of these people🤔🤔
user279 my older brother is in the 2nd slide and he said him and his boyfriend were just heading to 7/11 and they met her in the middle of the street, just RANDOMLY (im so jealous) and she asked to take a pic for a "future project"
user296 randomly meeting YN YLN is smthng I'd tell my kids and their kids and their kids and their—
user567 she's so classy bc wdym she has NOTHING bad to say about lando AT ALL??
user571 someone give me a mic, I have loads to say actually🙂
flonorris yeah, that grammy is gonna be well deserved🙂↕️
yn_thegonegirl crossing fingers, sis🤞🕯
user702 luv that they still talk MY FAMILYY😭
user456 where do I sign up so YN can make a song for me, I'm getting married next autumn #imsojealous😔😔
yn_thegonegirl omg congratulations?!! I'd love to make a song for you on one condition.
user456 WOAH😧😧ANYTHING AT ALL
yn_thegonegirl can I be invited to the wedding pls pls pls pls🙏🏾
user456 let me think about it OF COURSE🗣
yn_thegonegirl check your dms!!!!
oscarpiastri best song ever👍
yn_thegonegirl thanks🫶🏾
dannyricciardo these two and their default emojis😭😭
lando my favourite song since the last song you released🧡
lilymhe get outta here.
Tap to see more comments.
☆ March '26
☆ April '26
[Replies:]
alexandramalenaleclerc THE WAY I SCREAMED OMG ITS HAPPENING EVERYBODY STAY CALM🏃🏻♀️➡️🏃🏻♀️➡️🏃🏻♀️➡️🏃🏻♀️➡️
yn_thegonegirl 😅surprise!
alexandramalenaleclerc I'm so proud of you😭
hattiepiastri we will be there🙂↕️🙂↕️
yn_thegonegirl 🥐family always welcome!
lewishamilton about damn time
yn_thegonegirl 🫡
olivia__marsh no love for the aussies??😔
yn_thegonegirl I'll get you a ride baby, I swear!
arvid.lindblad BOSH!
yn_thegonegirl is that a good reaction?
arvid.lindblad it's MEGA
yn_thegonegirl I can never understand you kids...
charles_leclerc oh this is why alexa started running around and screaming her head off😧
yn_thegonegirl I'm sorry😭
charles_leclerc it's alr she stopped screaming
charles_leclerc then she started crying into a throw pillow and telling me how proud she is of you and how far you've come and how you never give up on love and life
yn_thegonegirl maybe you should buy a few pregnancy tests
charles_leclerc 😀
flavy.barla where do I buy the tickets??😆😆
yn_thegonegirl don't worry about that, I'll sneak you and esteban in
alex_albon I thought the tour was meant to start in July🤔
yn_thegonegirl it was😄
alex_albon ...did you move your world tour back just so you wouldn't miss the wedding?
yn_thegonegirl well yeah😄
alex_albon 🧍🏻♂️I'm not crying.
flonorris oh hell yeah!
yn_thegonegirl 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
arthur_leclerc put me in your suitcase pls🙏🏼
yn_thegonegirl no, you have to drive!
arthur_leclerc they don't need me the way I need you, mon tresor😔😔
yn_thegonegirl we've been together almost every day since you asked me to be your girlfriend three weeks ago
arthur_leclerc you're tired of me??😭😭
yn_thegonegirl never that, amour💀but you'll grow tired of me
arthur_leclerc Impossible.
yn_thegonegirl it's happened before
arthur_leclerc it's not going to happen now, or ever while we're together, which is going to be forever because I am going to marry you.
yn_thegonegirl you don't mean that, we haven't been together that long
arthur_leclerc I don't need years to know that I already love you. I need those years to grow the love we already have between us🧍🏻♂️
yn_thegonegirl you're gonna make me cry
arthur_leclerc I'm also going to make you the happiest woman alive for as long as I live
yn_thegonegirl you're such a sappy romantic
arthur_leclerc so are you, so we're perfect together mon tresor
lilymhe Alex and I will be naming our firstborn child after you🙂
yn_thegonegirl I love you too, lily😂😂
lando I always knew you could do it
yn_thegonegirl you never even bothered to pay attention to anything I did when we were together
lando I always paid attention, beautiful
yn_thegonegirl you probably don't even know the name of the first bar I played at
lando how could anyone remember that?
yn_thegonegirl you would remember it if you hadn't rejected my invitation so you could go partying with danny and the guys that night
lando alr, I can tell I've touched a nerve so I'll take a step back
yn_thegonegirl why don't you just leave me alone entirely?
lando bc I know you still love me.
yn_thegonegirl what gives you that ludicrous idea?
lando bc I still love you.
yn_thegonegirl just because you realised too late that I was the best thing that ever happened to you, doesn't mean that I've been waiting around all along just for you to extend a hand so we can "make up"
lando arthur is getting in the way of what we had, darling, what we had was perfect
yn_thegonegirl no it wasn't, what I have with arthur is perfect.
lando darling you're being delusional
yn_thegonegirl no, you are.
yn_thegonegirl I've closed the door on your love and opened another one for new love.
lando you'll regret this one day
More comments.
☆ May '26
Love Me • YN YLN
Liked by ynupdates, lec_islife, ynmylove and others
deuxmoi It is with heavy hearts that we bring you this unfortunate announcement. Let us all respect YN's family and their privacy in this trying time for them.
user789 NO FREAKIN WAY
user211 are u serious rn? pls say this is a joke
user877 what did you just say to me???
user655 a beautiful soul lost too soon😔
user433 just yesterday she was posting about arthur proposing to her wdym wdym WDYM
user766 right before her first ever world tour???
user988 right before lily and alex's wedding😔😔she was the most excited of everyone for that
user199 this feels so surreal, someone please pinch me I want to wake up now
user322 lando podium on the same weekend his ex gets engaged and passes away oh everyone is cursed now
Summary: She’s the youngest Leclerc—okay, not technically, since she and Arthur are twins. But as the younger twin (according to her), she comes with a reputation: the favorite child, the biggest menace, and the one with just enough sass to keep her brothers permanently exhausted.
As the youngest and only girl among the Leclerc siblings, she deems herself the most iconic sibling. She never really obeys her older brothers, not even her twin; she hates being reprimanded. Especially by Charles. And she also hated being associated with her brothers, because according to her, she’s “an iconic woman who can shine on my own without you imbeciles.”
So imagine their surprise when she started showing up to more races. Willingly.
“Ma petite chérie, it’s a surprise to see you here?” Charles asks her as she steps into the garage.
“When I don’t come to races, you guys complain, yet when I do, you still ask questions. Come on, Charles, can’t your beautiful, loving, and iconic sister support you?” She retorted, her hands flailing together as she expressed herself.
“You flatter yourself too much, do you know that?”
“Only the correct and fitting words for me, Charlie.” She said as she sat on the chair beside him.
“You haven’t answered my question. Why are you here? And willingly at that?” Charles asked her, skepticism evident in his tone.
She turned her whole torso toward him, annoyance radiating.
“Charlie, can’t you just be glad I’m here?”
“That’s hard to do, especially when it comes to you. Who knows what you’re plotting.” He said, whispering the latter part.
To which she just rolled her eyes.
A loud identical voice was heard and the two siblings turned their head to the owner of the voice.
“Heard my carbon copy is here.”
Of course. It’s Arthur.
“Hello to you, too, Artie.” She greeted her twin with a bored voice.
Charles just shook his head and turned to go back to what he was doing before. Leaving the twins to their own accord.
Arthur just looked at her skeptically and raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
He made sure Charles was out of earshot as he whispered to her.
“Be honest, why are you here?”
She also raised an eyebrow at him. Mimicking his expression.
“You all are doubting me now?”
“Hard not to. Considering who you really are.”
“Can’t a girl just attend races and watch twenty-two rich men drive in circles while they lose their minds?”
Arthur just stared at her. Trying to figure out her real intention.
“Oh come on, Artie! I’m just here to support Charles. Stop overanalyzing me!”
“Then why are you panicking?”
“I’m not!”
“Yes, you are.”
She looked at him, frustrated and bewildered.
Arthur crossed his arms, watching her closely, that knowing twin look she absolutely hated.
“You’re fidgeting,” he said simply.
“I am not fidgeting,” she snapped, immediately stilling her hands—only to realize she’d just proven his point.
Arthur smirked. “Right.”
She exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re hiding something.”
A beat.
She rolled her eyes, turning away from him. “I’m not hiding anything. I just… decided to show up. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes.”
“…wow.”
Arthur leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You never come willingly. Not unless there’s a reason. And when there’s a reason, it’s usually…” he paused, eyeing her suspiciously, “…problematic.”
She scoffed. “Excuse you.”
“I’m serious,” he continued. “Last time you ‘just showed up,’ you—”
“Okay, we’re not revisiting history,” she cut him off quickly.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Exactly.”
She clicked her tongue, crossing her arms. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Says you.”
Before she could fire back, a voice cut through behind them.
“Well… this is new.”
Both twins turned.
Lando Norris stood a few steps away, helmet in hand, a curious smile playing on his lips as he looked between them—then settled on her.
“…I don’t think I’ve seen you in the Ferrari garage before,” he added.
Arthur’s eyes flicked between the two instantly. Slowly. Suspiciously.
She, on the other hand, straightened slightly—just slightly—and lifted her chin.
“Well, now you have,” she said smoothly.
Lando huffed a quiet laugh. “Fair enough.”
Arthur’s gaze sharpened.
“Oh,” he said slowly, realization dawning. “Oh, this is—”
She elbowed him hard before he could finish.
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t even say anything!”
“You were about to.”
Lando raised a brow, amused. “Should I come back later or…?”
“No,” she said quickly—too quickly.
Arthur snorted. “Definitely don’t come back later. This is getting interesting.”
She shot him a glare sharp enough to kill.
Lando’s smile widened just a fraction, clearly entertained. “Right… I’ll just—uh—stay here then.”
A brief silence settled.
Then—Charles’ voice, from not too far away: “…why is he in my garage?”
Arthur immediately stepped back. “And there it is.”
She closed her eyes for half a second. “…of course.”
Lando muttered under his breath, “I feel like I’ve walked into something I shouldn’t have.”
Arthur grinned. “Oh no, you absolutely have.”
Charles approached, eyes flicking from Lando—to his sister—to Arthur—then back to Lando again.
“…explain,” he said simply.
She stepped forward before either of them could speak.
“He’s just saying hello.”
Charles didn’t look convinced.
Lando, to his credit, nodded. “…yeah. Just saying hello.”
Arthur coughed to hide a laugh. To which she responded with a glare and an elbow to the ribs.
Charles’ gaze lingered for a moment longer before he exhaled. “…fine.”
But his eyes flicked back to her again.
Suspicious. Calculating.
She smiled sweetly. Too sweetly.
Arthur leaned closer to her, whispering just enough for her to hear,
F1 GRID || when security stops you at the paddock gate because you forgot your pass and he has to come get you!
MAX VERSTAPPEN – cold & protective
you decide to text max curtly, “stuck outside. forgot pass. they won’t let me through.” max appears within minutes, expression unreadable, eyes sharp, jaw tight. he doesn’t even glance at the guard’s protests. “she’s with me,” he says firmly, the authority in his voice silencing everyone around. he guides you inside with a steady hand at your back. you mutter, “sorry, i shouldn’t have– ” “don’t apologise,” he interrupts, voice low. “just call me next time. i don’t want you standing out there alone.” “like… what?” you whisper, glancing at him. “exposed. like you don’t belong there,” he says, letting go just enough to give you space, but his hand lingers, a silent claim. you roll your eyes as his words, but nonetheless, you still blush.
OSCAR PIASTRI – deadpan but still slightly smug
you’re standing at the gate, phone in hand, sending rapid texts, hoping he'll see them in enough time, “forgot my pass. they won’t let me in. help?” the security guard shakes his head, clearly frustrated, and you bite your lip. a shadow falls over you. oscar, hoodie up, hands in pockets, walking swiftly like he doesn't want to be there. “she’s with me,” he says, flat, tone sharp enough to stop the guard mid-sentence. within seconds, you’re waved through. as you fall into step beside him, you mutter, “thank you.” he glances at you, eyes flicking to your phone. “texting me about it?” “yeah, obviously but clearly it's pointless since you don't have your phone,” you shrug. he smirks slightly, voice low. “don’t make a habit of standing out here. next time, i might just leave you.” you roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “whatever you say, oscar. as if you'd leave me, alone.” “oh yeah?” he mutters, eyes glinting, “good luck getting in without me.”
CHARLES LECLERC – softly teases you
you’re stuck arguing with security, trying not to look flustered, when you text charles, “babe, i forgot my pass. they’re treating me like a stranger.” a few minutes later, he arrives, sunglasses on, casual grin in place. he doesn’t even need to raise his voice, “she’s with me,” he says, hand slipping naturally into your smaller palm. the guard lets you pass without another word. “see?” you murmur, exasperated. “i didn’t even have to fight.” charles leans closer, lips brushing your ear. “sometimes it’s fun watching you squirm,” he whispers. “so supportive,” you mutter, shoving his chest lightly. he laughs softly. “shut up. i just like making sure everyone knows you’re mine.”
ARTHUR LECLERC – polite & quietly exasperated
you’re stuck outside the paddock, phone in hand, “arthur… forgot my pass. they’re not letting me in. pls save me.” a few minutes later, arthur arrives, walking briskly, expression calm but eyes scanning the guard like he’s already calculating the easiest way through. “she’s with me,” he says quietly, voice polite but firm. the guard steps aside immediately. you exhale, relieved, and grin at him. “took you long enough. maybe next time i’ll call for your brother instead.” arthur freezes mid-step, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly, eyes flicking sharply toward you. “next time,” he mutters, voice low, “i'll leave you there.” you laugh, nudging his shoulder. “and they say romance is dead.” he glances away for a second, trying to hide the flush in his cheeks, then slides his hand over yours as you walk.
GEORGE RUSSELL – polite but pointed
your thumbs fly, “george… forgot my pass. help pls before i die of embarrassment.” george arrives minutes later, calm, collected, lanyard already in hand. “she’s with me,” he says crisply to the guard, leaving zero room for argument. the way he says it is quiet but final, and you’re waved through immediately. as you walk, he slips his hand into yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “don’t worry. i’ll always come get you,” he says softly. “even if i make you look like a chauffeur?” you tease. george smiles, leaning down slightly, voice warm, “even then. although… i might enjoy it a little.” you laugh, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.” “maybe,” he murmurs, thumb tracing small circles over your hand, “but you like it.”
LANDO NORRIS – chaotic & dramatic, per usual
you’re at the gate, waving your phone like a white flag, “lando, please. they won’t let me in. save me before i die.” in less than three minutes, lando comes barrelling down the path, curls messy, lanyard swinging. “oi! that’s my girlfriend!” he shouts, catching the guard’s attention instantly. you bury your face in your hands, groaning, while he practically flashes his face like a weapon. “how do you even forget your pass?” he mutters, tugging you through. “it was an accident!” you laugh, swatting at him. “sure, sure. forgetful is your middle name,” he teases, still gripping your hand as you walk. “don’t worry. i’ll always save you.” you grin, rolling your eyes. “you're a sad excuse of a hero” “your favourite hero, actually,” he corrects you, squeezing your hand again.
OLLIE BEARMAN – flustered but protective
you text frantically, “ollie. help!!! forgot my pass, stuck outside.”
ollie comes running down the path, hair tousled, hoodie half-zipped, hands waving at the security. “she’s with me!” he blurts, louder than necessary. the guard hesitates, then nods, letting you pass. “you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, laughing. “i have to make sure no one bothers you,” he says, grabbing your hand, thumb brushing over yours. “you could’ve gotten stuck here forever.” you shake your head, smiling. “maybe, but you really don’t need to panic.” he smirks, holding onto your hand a little tighter. “i like panicking when it’s about you.”
CARLOS SAINZ – relaxed but teasing
your text buzzes his phone, “stuck outside paddock. forgot my pass. come get me?” carlos strolls over, calm, sunglasses perched on his head. he doesn’t rush; he just stands in front of the barrier, one of his large hands reaching for yours, “she’s with me,” he says casually, and the guard steps aside. you groan. “i can’t believe this.” he laughs, leaning in so his voice brushes your ear. “i can. you forgetting things is kind of your thing.” “my thing?” you ask, mock offense in your voice. “yeah… it gives me more chances to come rescue you, maybe you do it on purpose.” he says, smirk in place, guiding you inside.
ALEX ALBON – sharp, yet quietly amused
you text him with a groan, “alex… i forgot my pass. they’ve got me standing here like i’m some random fangirl.” he shows up not long after, tall frame cutting through the small crowd by the gate. no raised voice, no drama. he just slips his hand into yours like it’s second nature. “she’s with me,” he tells the guard, tone calm but firm enough that the guard instantly steps back. you’re waved through like nothing happened. as you walk, you mutter, “i swear they looked at me like i was lying. like i just made you up.” alex glances sideways at you, lips twitching. “well… you do talk about me like i’m too good to be true sometimes.” you elbow him lightly. “cocky much?” his smirk widens, hand squeezing yours. “nah, just reminding yo, no-one’s gonna mistake you for a fangirl again. not when i’m holding your hand.” you raise a brow, teasing. “so i'm just a PR stunt?” he chuckles, leaning closer, voice dropping so only you hear, “no. this is me making sure everyone knows where you belong.”
LEWIS HAMILTON – confident, low-key amused
you’re at the gate, phone in hand, “lewis… they won’t let me in. forgot my pass. come get me.” lewis strolls up minutes later, calm, sunglasses low, his presence immediately commanding. “she’s with me,” he says smoothly, and the guard steps aside without arguing.
you smirk. “took you long enough. maybe next time i’ll text nico instead.” lewis freezes mid-step, glancing sharply at you. “nico?” his tone is calm but carries an edge. “i’m joking,” you say, chuckling. he lets a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth, thumb brushing over yours. “joking or not... you only call me. understood?” you roll your eyes, but can’t hide your grin. “understood, your highness.” he chuckles softly. “good. now let’s move before anyone else gets any ideas.”
ISACK HADJAR – earnest, anxious, protective
your thumbs move swiftly, “isack!! stuck outside, no pass, they won’t let me in. pls hurry before i die.” isack comes running, hair messy, cheeks flushed. “she’s with me!” he blurts, his french accent loud and clear. the security guard steps aside immediately. “you really didn’t need to yell,” you say, avoiding others' stares. “i did,” he replies, slipping his hand into yours. “i just– don’t like seeing you stuck. makes me nervous.” “nervous?” you laugh. he tightens his grip slightly. “i don't want anyone else helping you. you’re mine, y/n.” you roll your eyes but smile. “alright then, my nervous saviour” he grins shyly. “i’ll take that title… if it comes with saving you again.”
KIMI ANTONELLI – sweet & eager to help
you text him, frowning “kimi, i forgot my pass. stuck outside the gate. can you come get me?” he replies almost instantly, “wait there. i’m coming.” a couple minutes later, he shows up half-running, half-tripping over his own steps, curls a little messy. “i'm here!” he blurts to the guard, a bit breathless. the guard waves you through without hesitation. “you didn’t have to sprint,” you deadpan, walking beside him. “yeah, i did,” he says quickly, cheeks a little pink. “you sounded stressed. i didn’t want you to wait alone.” you smile softly. “what, afraid i’d call someone else instead?” his eyes widen like you’ve just suggested a crime. “no! i mean– i hope you wouldn’t. i want to be the one who helps you.” you nudge his arm gently. “don’t worry, kimi. you are.” he relaxes, giving you the smallest, relieved smile. “good. then, uh, i'll carry your pass next time too. just in case.”
LIAM LAWSON – flustered with a bit of self-deprecating humour
your text him,“liam.. um, i forgot my pass, i’m stuck outside. pls hurry.” he jogs up a few minutes later, cheeks pink, hair a little messy from the run. “she’s with me!” he says, almost too loudly, his accent somehow making him even louder. the guard lets you through. “you look like you sprinted a mile,” you tease. “yeah, well,” he huffs, grinning sheepishly, “you panic-text like you’re in actual danger.” “you weren’t worried?” “of course i was worried,” he says quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “if anyone else saw you standing here, they’d probably try their luck. and i’d rather not test my competition.” you roll your eyes, smiling. “you make it sound like i’m a trophy.” “you kind of are,” he says, half under his breath.
DANIEL RICCARDIO – playful but stupid
you type quickly, “daniel. forgot my pass, stuck at the gate. rescue me pls.” a few minutes later, he rolls up on an electric scooter. “princess pickup service!” he announces, grinning as he waves the pass at the guard. “she’s mine, don’t worry.” you stare at him, horrified. “no. i’m not walking in with you if you’re on that thing.”
“what? why not?” he asks, mock-offended. “because it’s embarrassing,” you hiss, covering your face as a couple of fans giggle nearby. daniel plants one foot dramatically on the scooter deck, smirking. “come on, babe. you get chauffeur and entertainment. no one else is offering this package deal.” “i’ll take my chances with security, thanks,” you mutter, crossing your arms. he sighs theatrically, dismounts, and pushes the scooter beside him like it’s a wounded pet. “fine. but just know, you rejected peak service. five stars, easy.” you roll your eyes, trying not to smile. “you’re dumb.” “dumb,” he echoes, leaning down with a wide grin, “but still the one who got you inside.”
LOGAN SARGEANT – has a boyish charm but he's earnest
your thumbs fly across the screen, “logan!! i forgot my pass. stuck outside like a loser :P”. he jogs up not long after, hair a mess, cheeks a little flushed from the heat. “she’s with me!” he blurts quickly, flashing his pass before the guard can even argue. you’re waved through in a second. you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “why do you always yell like it’s a life or death situation?” logan laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “because it kinda feels like one when it’s about you.” you glance up at him, surprised. “you’re so dramatic.” “i’m serious,” he says, slipping his hand into yours as you start walking. “i don’t like the thought of you waiting out there alone, like someone could just… bother you.” your expression softens despite yourself. “aw. my protective knight.” he grins, a little sheepish.
oh my word, i haven't done this in ages!! ignore any mistakes, it's a college night & i'm really tired - but, hey, i've added a few more drivers!! hopefully, soon enough, i'll have all 2025-grid drivers ^^
but make sure to follow me & comment! :))
